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holykillercake · 3 years

Text

FRIED EGGS

KOBY x Pirate!Reader

word count: 2k

summary: Being infiltrated as a Marine and keeping your feelings under control was easy until you were assigned to work with Marine Captain Koby. How you wished he was a jerk.

highlight: ¨I am kissing you... but I am angry, Y/N-san...¨

warnings: read under the risk of developing diabetes.

notes: Hey, guys! This was a lovely request from @pure-kirarin! <3 I had to stop other projects to make this one because Koby threw me out of my comfort zone hahaha I really hope you like!! ALSO 1) Happy Birthday Sabo-kun! ALSO 2) In order to add more dept to the story, the main character is part of a Yonkos´crew, but I wrote in a way that all fit, so choose your favorite! ALSO 3) ART ALERT!

Leave comments, hearts and love!

¨You have been doing a remarkable job in such little time, Commander L/N. We all have great expectations regarding your transference to our Marine Headquarters.¨

The words of the Rear Admiral barely scratched your mind as you discreetly observed the pink-haired boy´s reflection on the crystal clear window.

He maintained a similar posture to yours: chin up, chest out, shoulders back, and stomach in. However, while your fingers remained paralleled to your trousers, you took a glimpse of his clenched fist, thumb fidgeting the side of his index finger.

¨Vice Admiral Tsuru was reluctant to sign your transfer. She said you remind her of herself in the past, which is always an excellent compliment to hear.¨ you nodded, acknowledging his words ¨We´re glad we convinced her.¨

Your heart warmed with his words, and you almost felt bad because you knew the disappointing outcome O-Tsuru-san would have at the end of this. She trained you with the iron face of a merciless soldier, and the elegance that resembled the animal of her name.

It has been three years since you received the green card from your captain to part ways in a long-term solo mission. A journey to excavate the putrid secrets of the so-called defenders of the law. You learned after a short time that justice is not so black and white.

Not that you planned to reveal the dirt, no. That intel your captain could sell to the Revolutionary Army and keep the capital running. You were interested in the arms race, the corrupt diplomacy, and more importantly, the dark pipes where traitors flowed.

Someone from inside the Yonkos was feeding the Marines with crucial information about the Emperors´ activities. And in such a close fight, you could not take those risks.

All other Emperors must have their own undercover agents within the Marines, but even that was a dispute. You could point some names to your boss, who confirmed what was suspected. Those would usually be the best of the best, extravagant and loud.

But not you. You didn't have to make that much noise. You slid between the floors of New Marineford like a snake swimming with the current. Earning the respect of your superiors and being promoted without ringing any bells. You accepted each medal with a firm salutation and relentless performance.

¨The trip must have been displeasing. Submerging ten thousand meters underwater and rising to these fiendish waters require a good rest. Our Marine Captain Koby will escort you to your quarters, Commander Y/N. The remaining instructions shall be presented tomorrow.¨

You saluted the Rear Admiral in front of you and turned to the exit, passing by Koby, who waited for you to leave first. When your paths crossed, the pace of your heartbeats quickened, pumping more blood through your body and leaving a burning sensation on your cheeks.

The involuntary response was instantly interpreted as alertness to danger, which needed to be handled with caution.

Can´t let my guard down around this one, you thought.

In fact, you planned to keep as much distance as you could from him. An officer let slip that he has been gaining incredible control over his Observation Haki since the Paramount War.

But the wind seemed to change direction, and you began to swim against the current. When the morning came, you were assigned to be his partner for an undetermined time, and he would act as your superior. The idea of being bossed around by a younger marine got your temper sparked.

Only he was not like the others, treating you in a patronizing and condescending way. He spoke to you with the same cordiality and politeness he addressed everybody else.

Slowly, your concrete cold expression began to soothe. You would still remind yourself how annoying his good manners were, though. So annoying, seriously!

¨Good morning, Y/N-san!¨ he greeted as you joined him for breakfast.

¨Good morning, Koby.¨

¨Our Border Force correspondent sent his report early in the morning with information about possible Yonkos´ alliances in the Wano Country. We are arranging a meeting as soon as possible.¨

You didn´t like to handle work so early, but this subject, in particular, raised your spirits. ¨Good. It was about time.¨

You noticed that he wore a different headband. ¨What happened?¨

¨Hm?¨ he brought the soup bowl close to his mouth.

¨The bandana. Green, with the fried eggs.¨ he choked on the miso soup, coughing like he had swallowed poison.

You reached for a paper tissue and handed it to him. ¨K-Koby, are you ok?¨

¨Y-Y/N... Y/N-san...¨ he coughed some more ¨They´re not... fried eggs...¨

¨Oh...¨ your brows raised slightly ¨What are they?¨

A depressive aura grew around him ¨They are flowers, YN-san...¨

The edge of your lips contorted as you tried to hide a smile. You haven´t felt like smiling genuinely for years. Annoying boy!

From that moment on, ignoring him became more difficult. He started to ask you to train with him or invite you to spend some time with him and Helmeppo whenever you had free time. Eventually, he began to ask you how he looked before an important meeting.

Most of the time, you would reply something like ¨ok¨. But sometimes, the mouth was quicker than the brain, and you would let an ¨impeccable¨ slip out, followed by an awkward throat clearing and blushed cheeks.

From both sides.

•

¨Oh my-¨ you stopped yourself from finishing the sentence.

You were chosen to complete this mission due to your excellent skills in hiding emotions and acting calm under stressful situations. No one could break you.

Within the Marines, no joke could make you crack a smile, and no torture could make you spill secrets.

Why did you want to ask if he was ok?

Koby had entered his office with bumps and bloody bruises over his face. His always neat uniform was blotchy, and he carried a first aid kit.

¨Garp-san paid a visit.¨ He sat on the couch and opened the white box, throwing everything on the coffee table. ¨I bet it wasn't like this with Tsuru-san.¨ he chuckled.

¨No. She would beat me up, wash me and hang me up to dry.¨

You shot from the chair, moving towards the clumsy pinkette, who struggled to attend to his injuries. He tried to hold the mirror with one hand and suture his gash with the other.

¨Thank yo-¨

¨Shh. Don´t move.¨

You leaned closer to have a better look, giving Koby the same chance. Your delicate perfume smelled like it was tailor-made for you. Your breathing was slightly irregular, and your lip twitched with every given stitch. Your fingers felt like feathers on his skin, so much that he didn´t even feel a sting.

The job was fast and efficient, making Koby wish Garp had put more effort into his Love Fist. Grabbing a piece of wet cotton, you cleaned the dried blood.

¨Alright...¨ you whispered.

¨Alright...¨ he whispered back.

You were inches apart from his face, your eyes traveling across the scar on his forehead, the pink locks, and kind features. Your mind traced back all the way to the Paramount War. You had very little knowledge about him, but the words he spoke that day have always made your heart pound like cannonballs.

You will make an excellent Admiral one day, Koby.

I hope you don´t hate me.

¨Y-Y/N-san...¨

¨Hm?¨

¨Your smile is beautiful.¨

¨What?¨ The stupid scene of yours was interrupted like a DJ stopping the record player.

With cheeks getting pinker than his hair, you shot up and marched back to the chair and your newspaper. ¨You clean this up.¨

He left a low chuckle out and began gathering the mess.

Oh, no, Y/N. You have got to be kidding me.

He is a freaking marine. Breathe.

There were a vast number of reasons why you couldn´t like him: from him being a Marine Captain and you being a pirate to the fact that your mission was coming to a conclusion.

Meaning that your journey as his partner would be very soon reaching its end. The meeting with this mysterious correspondent regarding the Yonkos´ operations in the New World would be the last move in this chess game. You would be going home. Mission completed. Everything perfect, right?

Right, perfect. Impeccable! Ugh!

•

¨... confirm secure line.¨

¨This is Border Officer code 404890. Secure line confirmed.¨ you spoke with a low but clear voice through the nail transponder.

¨What´s the status on our birdie?¨

¨Positive. The birdie is located at 03:24:01.¨ you gave your boss a coordinate to the name of the Marine informant. The answer you took three years to find out remained on file number one, third page, suspect number twenty-four.

An amused laugh echoed on your end, and you buried the speaker on your jacket to muffled the sound.

¨At least he is not one of ours.¨ a chuckle ¨Great job, Y/N.¨

¨Thank you, boss.¨

¨I know this mustn't have been easy, but you were impeccable as always.¨

Yeah, impeccable.

¨You know the protocol now. We´ll see each other in a few days. You´ll have a party waiting for you, kid.¨

¨Aye, aye, boss. But I want the good booze.¨ Both of you laughed.

You finished the call, and the smile on your lips died as the image of a pink-haired boy invaded your mind. You wished he was a jerk like everybody else.

It would have been so easy.

¨Who were you talking to?¨ your chest contracted, pushing the air out of your lungs and sending extra blood supply to your muscles.

You hid the transponder into your jacket and turned, facing your Marine Captain.

¨Eavesdropping, Koby?¨

What should I do?

¨Y/N-san, who were you talking to?¨ he repeated himself, offering the benefit of the doubt. You sighed.

¨My captain.¨

Why the need to be honest with him?

¨Y/N-san, please don´t tell me-¨

¨I´m sorry, Koby. I wish I didn´t have to do this.¨ you couldn´t bring yourself to face him.

¨A-Are you a pirate? Why?¨

You chuckled ¨Why am I a pirate?¨

¨Why did you do this?¨ his face was pale, making your guts twitch in guilt.

¨I´m on a mission. But I´ll leave soon.¨

¨You are like... Vergo-san.¨ he sounded disappointed.

¨I am nothing like Vergo. You know this.¨ or at least you hoped he did.

He closed the door slowly, eyes fixed on your figure. The bright light from the window made him look like an ethereal painting.

While you tried to predict his next move, whether he was going to interrogate you or kick your ass, Koby acted calm and collected, not hesitating. He trusted his Observation Haki to guide his next move. Or maybe his heart.

You saw a pink blur closing distance like a missile, and before you could dodge, his hands pulled you by the waist, connecting your bodies and lips.

He forced your back to meet the thick window with a gasp that was muffled by the kiss. His touch was rough upon the fabric of your uniform, but his mouth felt soft against yours.

Your hands moved to his hair, removing the round pair of glasses and the green bandana so you could get lost in his locks. His grip was harsh under the fabric of your uniform, but his hair felt soft on your fingertips.

A moan escaped your lips when he parted the kiss with a loud snap and struck the glass with both hands, keeping you trapped in the middle. You let go of his hair and grabbed him by the collar, not letting him go away.

¨I am kissing you... but I am angry, Y/N-san...¨ his breath was heavy and carried with a myriad of emotions.

¨I know... I am sorry.¨

¨Why?¨

¨Because I like you, Koby. A lot.¨ he paused for a second, fighting the urge to admit the same.

¨What was your mission?¨

This is the last lie, I promise, Koby. ¨The Marines possessed vital information about something my boss wants. I needed to get it.¨

¨Now that I know that you´re a pirate and that you stole Marine´s assets, I´m gonna have to hunt you down.¨

¨I´ll be waiting for you.¨

You stared him in the eyes, and he kissed you to stop himself from saying what he really wanted.

I love you, Y/N-san.

Diary of Koby-Meppo: The Fried Egg Life Crisis.

💕 @vemuabhi

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gotnofucks · 4 years

Text

Sell My Soul

Pairing: dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader

Summary: You cut a deal with the Sheriff to save your brother

Words: 2k

Warning: non-con touching, sexual harassment, language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: No spoilers for TDATT

Part 2 Part 3

MASTERLIST

-------------------------------------------------------------

You were shivering in the winter chill, your thin jacket doing little to protect you from the breeze. But then, your shivering was partly due to fear too. You were sitting outside the police station in a rickety chair, hands tugged deep in your pocket and a handknit woolen hat on your head. You were waiting for news of your brother who had been kicked out of the bar again after starting a fight. Seems like he punched someone important tonight which prompted his arrest and so here you were.

“Miss”, a young officer called, and you looked at him. “The Sheriff will see you now”

The Sheriff. Of course, as if tonight couldn’t have gotten worse with you dragging yourself out after midnight in freezing cold to the police station, it just did. You wish you’d worn more than a jacket, but then even if you had ten more layers on, you felt naked in front of his gaze. You entered his small office and the officer shut the door behind you. There was a large window with a view to other officers’ desk outside, so you relaxed a little.

“Y/n, lovely to see you again.” Sheriff Lee Bodecker greeted you with his condescending smirk. His eyes raked over your form with no shame and you crossed your arms across your chest. “Sit”.

You took a seat in front of his desk and twisted your fingers nervously. You tried to hold his gaze but the darkness in those blue eyes scared you.

“Can I see my brother?” You asked.

“Your brother really got himself into a spot tonight, sweetheart. You see, he punched the Mayor’s son.”

The little blood in your face drained as your heard what he said. The Mayor’s son. Your brother was a goner. They’ll have him charged with assault or maybe even attempted murder. This town was the most corrupt place you’d known, and laws were made and broken as per convenience. You willed away the tears in your eyes because he was the last person you wanted to cry in front of.

Lee looked at you with a smirk as you tried to compose yourself. He was always smirking, always amused when he looked at you. Sometimes when he managed to get his hands on you, he would smile. That smile was the stuff of your nightmares.

“How much do you want to drop the charges? I’ve got some money saved.” You said. There was going to be no court or justice here. Law didn’t work like that in this place. Bodecker chuckled.

“Sweetheart, money ain’t gonna do shit for your brother this time round. It’s the Mayor’s son.”

“I’ve got some jewelry if that will do.”

“The Mayor has no use for that. Your brother touched his precious son. He wants revenge.”

You sighed. You could have slapped your brother for his foolishness. After your parents’ passing, his care was passed onto you. No matter how well you tried to raise him, he grew up to be a little shit. You really should have worked harder to curb his drinking habit. You wracked your mind for any way to get him out and when you found none, you softly groaned. You’ll have to swallow your pride and ask for help from the last person you wanted to owe something to.

“What can I do to get him out?” You asked Lee and he grinned.

“How badly do you want him out?” He mused, rubbing his jaw, and staring at you.

“You know how badly. And I know you’ve got something up your sleeve so just tell me what I have to do”

“Now you’re talking. You were always such a quick learner.” He said and got up from his desk. He walked to the door and to your horror drew in the blinds, covering the window. He turned to your shell-shocked self with a cheeky smile.

“Put them back up. The blinds.” You said. You’d hoped that your voice will be firm, but it came out shaky. For the first time tonight, you truly felt alone with him, and that never ended well for you. His eyes often wandered and so did his hands, something that you couldn’t escape no matter how hard you tried.

“Come on, don’t be like that. I only wanna help you darlin’. I know you love that piece of shit brother of yours and losing him would break that pretty little heart of yours. You know how much I care about that, don’t you?”

His hand touched your cheek and you jumped up and away from him. He was blocking the only exit and your breathing picked up as you felt trapped.

“Please don’t. I can’t deal with you right now. I just want to take him home.” You said.

Lee leaned against his desk and licked his lips.

“You see sweetheart, it doesn’t matter to me what you want. You wanna see your brother back under your roof, so you gotta deal with me. Now, come here.” He pointed in front of him and you glared. You hated this fucking town and you hated this man. For months now he’s had those eyes on you and would find ways to get you alone. At times he’d corner you in your own store and run those disgusting hands over your curves. You’d always managed to slip away somehow, but today it seemed like your bad luck had turned into a curse and time had run out.

“How can you help my brother? What can you do to ensure he’ll be fine?”

“Come to me and I’ll tell you.”

There was heat in his eyes along with challenge. He could obviously drag you, but he wanted your surrender. He wanted you to walk to him. For a moment you were tempted to let your brother rot for putting you in this position but then you steeled your nerves. Squaring your shoulders, you walked in front of him and stopped.

“Closer”

You took another step. You were less than an arm’s length apart.

“Closer”

“Sheriff, please”

“Now!”

You took the last step and you could feel his breath on your face. He looked at ease with that annoying smirk in place.

“Ain’t that easy, eh?” He said and casually pushed your hair behind your ear. You flinched and took a step away. His hand shot out and in a second it was around your waist and you were tugged flush to his body.

“Stop, let go!” You said and tried to push him away. He caught your hands in one of his before cupping your jaw harshly.

“Listen to me now. I am the only person who can save your brother. If you ever want to see him again, stop fucking struggling. You’ve been a little minx slipping outta my hands every time. But I tell you, even if you go away now, I’ll come back. I’ll keep coming until you’ll have no where to go. And once I have you, you’ll wish you hadn’t made me wait.”

Tears gathered in your eyes and when he saw them, he let your jaw go and wiped them away. Putting a hand behind your head he pulled you closer and then you felt his lips on yours. It was a bruising kiss that left you feeling almost faint. But you didn’t struggle anymore.

“You have no idea how much I want you. I see you trying to find a place in this town. I see you wandering like a lost soul. But that’s because you don’t know where you belong. And where you belong is with me. Under me.” He kissed you again, biting your lips. He released your hands and roughly tugged off your jacket from your shoulder. Your hands shot out to stop his, breath erratic as your eyes darted to the door.

“Please, not here, not now.” You knew you were pleading, but this was the only way. Your brother was the only family you had left, and you weren’t ready to lose him. “Save my brother, please. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever?” He was smiling and you felt your stomach churn. This is what it must feel like trying to sell your soul to the Devil.

“Whatever.” You promised and his hands left you. You shrugged on your jacket and breathed deeply after putting some distance between you.

“You know, this town may be shit but it has at least got some semblance of law. I can get someone to confess that your brother didn’t start the fight and only retaliated in self-defense. Even this town can’t ignore an eyewitness testimony.”, Bodecker said with a smug look. You exhaled deeply in relief. You didn’t care to know if the witnesses were true or false or if your brother truly started the fight or not. You won’t lose him.

“Can I see him?”, You asked, and he nodded.

“Of course, you can darlin’. You meet him in that cell and tell him you gonna get him out. And while you’re at it, give ‘im the good news too.”

“Good news?”

“Why, the good news of our engagement of course. He’s your brother so he’s gotta be my family too right. You tell him I’ll make sure they don’t hurt him in there.”

Your legs shook and you sat back in your chair while Lee supported an ear-splitting grin. He laughed a little and came to you, a hand gently combing your hair.

“You said whatever, didn’t ya.”

You looked up at him in disbelief. Why would he want to marry you? At most you thought he’d want to bed you, take you so he could go on to finding another conquest. You thought one night or maybe a couple more at max would be all he asked for. Your body in exchange for your brother’s life. You could do that. But he wasn’t just asking for your body. He wanted the whole of you.

“Why do you wanna marry me?” You whispered and he leaned down to brush a very soft kiss on your brow. You shivered in fear. His gentleness was scarier than his roughness. That Sheriff you could handle. You didn’t know what to expect from him like this.

“Is it so surprising I want a ring on that finger? You know what happens when I think of you in my bed, in my arms? You know what happens when I imagine you cooking me a meal when I come home from work? You know what happens when I think of you, barefoot and pregnant under my roof, moaning my name as you beg me to fill you again and again? You wanna know what happens?” He snatched your hand and pressed it to his crotch over his pulsing hardness. “This happens. This is what you do to me.”

You tried to take your hand away, but he forced you to keep it there, squeezing himself through your hands.

“You’ll take my ring and you’ll wear a pretty dress and vow to obey me. You’ll love me and give me kids, lot of kids with your hair and my nose. And every night you will take my cock in your mouth and that juicy cunt of yours. Every night I want to taste you on my tongue and your softness around me.”

You did not know when he took you in his arms and pushed you against the wall but then he was kissing you. His hands roamed your body, smacking your ass and bruising you. You panted hard, confused, scared and helpless.

“No. No, please.” You cried but he silenced you with a punishing kiss and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Yes. I’ll have you. One way or another it had to happen.”

He took your hands and put them around his neck and spread legs apart by putting his knee between them. One hand cupped your breast while the other cupped you between your thighs.

“You’ll never feel empty down here. I’ll rail you so deep and hard sweetheart.”

Then abruptly he was off you and you almost stumbled off the wall. You held the back of the chair to support yourself, looking up in bafflement. What the fuck just happened here. He was back behind his desk, fiddling with some papers, a very content look in his blue eyes.

“Off you go, I’ll have someone take you to the cell. Then we can go home and celebrate.”

#dark!lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x reader #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker #the devil all the time #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

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jjkpls · 3 years

Text

first love (m)

genre : fluff, angst, light smut

pairing : kim seokjin x reader (f)

word count : 4.6k

warnings/content : mentions of sexual intercourse, mature language, infidelity, separated parents, unresolved past relationship, dad!seokjin, mom!reader

Seokjin doesn't mean to overreact. He knows he shouldn't. Knows you hate it. Knows, because he's been told enough times, that these types of reactions are unnecessary and possibly harmful for a child.

He can't really help it when deep down he knows he was meant to be an actor. Right before his actual birthday, his mother had dreamt of giving birth on a theatre stage, for God's sake.

But his father wasn't into it, given his ambitions, his own growing company and all the promising opportunities he envisioned both for him and for his only son. Therefore Seokjin went to law school, graduated with excellent mentions, followed an accelerated program in business development and managing and joined his father exactly where he was expected.

He isn't exactly complaining.

He likes his job, most of the time, likes the money and luxury that come with it especially and appreciates the work safety.

Now, you can't blame him for being quite the drama queen in his everyday life. All that pent up, buried alive passion for the arts of acting need to express, somehow.

That's what he'd say to you when you used to yell at him for starting weeping loudly in your ear when he'd call you to cancel a date last minute because he couldn't come, instead of just, cancelling it, aplogize, get over it like a normal person.

Or when you'd kick him in the ribs because he'd be all wild gestures and screeching screams when he'd teach your son to ride a bike and he would fall, as he should to learn, making the boy cry even when he wasn't hurt, solely from the projection of his dad's fear.

You're not here to tell him yourself but the glazed, annoyed roll of his son's eyes tells him precisely what you would. Those eyes are the worst. The prettiest he's ever seen. The ones he loves the most. The ones you also wear on your own pretty face.

"Since when?" He has a hand pressed to his chest, preventing a heart attack it seems, gaze wide and alarmed. Timothy sighs.

"A while. They were already together for Valentine's Day-" He explains patiently. That kid is sweet. The way he's slumped over, obviously annoyed to have to be the one telling his dad and having to deal with the consequences but still, he's watching over him with a soft eye, mouth torn in a sympathetic pout. He wouldn't mind his parents to get back together even though he is almost sure it wouldn't be a good idea for the both of you. He's heard tales of dysfunctional families, of parents hurting each other and their children and doesn't want that for any of you. He can't imagine it happen. You two are too good for that. That's probably why you had decided to separate in the first place.

Seokjin is quickly making maths in his head. Not really counting the time but situating himself in that time frame. Where was he at when she was out with this guy? What was he doing?

He may have been in Japan when it started. He remembers a call from you, you were asking him to take Timothy for a couple of days. You sounded embarrassed and he didn't know why but couldn't take the time to investigate, he had a flight expecting him and a conference call waiting to start in a couple of minutes. Important stuff. None of it would have mattered if he had known what you were up to.

"You okay, dad?" Timothy asks, awkward but kind. His mom basically.

"Devastated." Seokjin says with the widest grin on his face. He's not devastated. It'd be ridiculous to be for something absolutely predictable, fair and normal. He's not mad, nor disappointed. You deserve to be seeing people, have them desire you and make you feel good. He wishes it were him but if he can't do that, if you won't let him, he's glad you still can allow someone else to do it.

He's surprised though, he can't lie about that.

Honestly. That's stupid. But he didn't expect one second that you were seeing someone. You never mentioned anything and you didn't look like it. If there's a way you look when you're dating.

He remembers rosy cheeks and short skirts. You were younger.

"You think it's serious?" He asks casually, surprising even himself. His heart is in a turmoil but he showed enough to Timothy, acting like he was half dying, gasping for air and all.

"I don't know. She doesn't want to bring him home yet. Like, introduce him to me. I asked." Timothy, not only is he nice, he is smart. He's thirteen, shouldn't know much about Love and adults' matters yet. He's supposed to still be at that stage when one believes children and adults are two very distinctive race of humans, one that depends on the other and the other having it all figured it out, having reached a certain knowledge and expertise on all things and can't really be wrong on accident.

Timothy knows precisely what his dad would love to hear. And he gives it to him. Not to feed him vain hopes. Not even for this tiny hidden greed to have you back together. Simply because it's the truth and if for once the truth is pleasant to hear, then he should give it. Seokjin's smile only gets brighter. He shares a glance with his son, a glint winking his way and Timothy rolls his eyes, unable to hide the lift of the corners of his lips.

"Anyway, I heard you won that science fair at school?" Seokjin has already left his seat on Timothy's bed. He's rummaging through his leather bag and Timothy knows what it means. He has a present for him. Seokjin always has a present for him. Most of the time, he can justify it by some event or some success Timothy had encountered. The thing is they don't see each other that often, therefore, almost systematically, something new has come about and Seokjin can explain why he's brought a brand new console, a new laptop, a TV for his room or that one limited edition of this way too expensive branded pair of sneakers.

You used to get really mad at that. You'd say that he shouldn't, that he didn't need to bring him all these expensive stuff because what he'd like (it was a long time ago when Timothy was too young to have his own opinion and you would speak for him) is for his dad to be here more often. You'd say he wouldn't have to buy him shit for any other times than Christmas and his birthday if only he could be here for him. His dad would be his present.

It caused a lot of drama, a lot of crying. You had made sure not to scream, not to be too angry but Timothy felt from the way you squeezed him hard against your bosom that you were very upset. His dad had apologized, had said the most with his eyes only for you to understand. Timothy was staring, trying to get it too because he was involved, wasn't he? But that was one of those adults moments he wasn't allowed to participate in yet.

From then on, his dad wasn't late anymore when he'd set dates with him, his phone would be turned off when they were together and he would text him more often.

It was really nice. Because at first, Timothy felt that maybe if his dad wasn't so present it was because he didn't want to. For some reasons. He thought maybe he was too much of a coward or too nice possibly, to leave you two altogether, to disappear from your lives and start another one somewhere else, one he would have chosen and shaped as he'd want. Turns out Seokjin really appreciated his son and the time he got to spend with him. The more time they spend together, the more Timothy is met with awed eyes and whistling lips, impressed as his dad is by his smartness, his humour and hidden talents. He just was very busy. You explained that to him. That he was passionate by his work, that it required a sacrificial amount of time in one's life, and that he shouldn't ever take it personally because even he loved you and couldn't give you that time.

It's the conversation that led him to think that maybe his parents are meant to be, except they won't because... circumstances.

In any case, no matter how often they meet now, Seokjin still brings him gifts each and every time. The difference is that he has to think of a reason, sometimes make one up to not be struck down by your fury.

"Yes, I did."

"Of course, you did! Cause my son is the smartest." Timothy waits for the moment he says that his brain and the magic fuel filling it all come from him. It doesn't come. Instead, a neat white box is held in front of his face. There's a pretty tie made of ribbons glued in the middle, to hide the picture of what's inside, but there's no doubt that this is an iPhone. He rips the tie off and surprise surprise it's the iPhone 12.

"Mom is going to kill you." Timothy says first, before even thanking him, heart pounding from excitement and face split in two by the wide banana grin.

"Probably." He shrugs, unapologetic.

"Thanks, dad!" Timothy doesn't forget to add, eyes shiny and toothy grin even shinier.

He hopes so. That you're going to be mad. You two are too old to have petty fights now. You don't waste your energy in screaming and finding the worst things to say to hurt his feelings. You just cross your arms under your tits, clench your jaws and adopt that pout on your mouth, eyelids low and eyebrows high, the embodiment of condescendence and you look sexy as hell. He smiles and winks at you, calls you by an old pet name and you're swooning even though you try to hide it. No one is charming like he is, and no one charms you as he does therefore he's not too worried.

His son was just going around with this prehistorical device you dared to call a smartphone. With the broken screen, and the non-functioning selfie cam and the safari app needing a good ten minutes to charge one fucking page -this was deliberate as you wanted him to have a phone to call and text you and not go and lose himself on the internet or whatever. He's almost fourteen though and he's doing a great job at school and is such a good kid at home, he deserves it.

"I know and I don't care. I don't need you to tell me my son is good." You are infuriated. The perfect picture of you he had imagined, the only difference is that, you've just walked out of work, you seem to have had a rough day and your hair is a mess. With the wild locks hanging off of your bun, framing your pretty face, you look even better. "I don't want him to have something so expensive on him, first of all."

"His dad is richer than Cresus, what do you expect?" The cockiness dripping from every pore should suffice to make you explode. Of course, it doesn't. He has that stupid side grin. The one he's got you with in the first place.

"And what about- internet and even just the darn AppStore? He's too young to-"

"Are you worried about porn?" He frowns, you flush. That's precisely one of the things you think about. You don't want him to fall upon stuff he doesn't need to see -in your opinion for a good ten years at least- or start taking interest in social medias where creepy fuckers could hang out.

You flush because apparently, it's a word complicated still to hear from him. "I've made a parental software installed in it. And a localisation too. Not that we really need it with him but you know."

"Oh." All tension escapes from your torn face and tensed shoulders.

"Oh, wow, my first love is such a good dad." He mocks, voice high, hardly resembling yours, barely biting back a smirk. He even goes as far as swiping the right side of his bangs back, eyes closed, mannerism insufferable.

"Shut up." More flush. A fist to his chest for punishment. Bad idea. Apparently, he went back to the gym.

"You should be nicer because I have something for you too." He says, eyes glancing mischievously as his hand dips in the pocket of his trench coat. "Well. I don't want it." You cross your arms on your chest again which only serves to push your tits forward to him and he wonders what you're playing at. Probably the same game he plays when he winks and smiles and lifts his eyebrow to you.

"Wait 'til you see it." He sees the moment you realize it's a jewellery box. He reads the instant wild excitement, he catches also the gloomy shadow you try to paint over it because you don't want to accept it. How many times does he need to be told to stop? He won't ever stop.

"You can't buy me, Seokjin." You're eyeing the velour box in his hand, a tiny beautiful red in this large pearly white palm. You want it. You always do. You don't dare uncross your arms though because you know that if you even do something as reckless as taking it in your hand, just to have a look at it, you won't be able to refuse it.

"Of course, I can." More of that smirk. You glare, it makes him wheeze as he does.

You have never ever been able to refuse any of his shiny presents. You're not a gold digger, that's precisely why you felt so guilty all the time, accepting to receive from him things you could never afford for him -or yourself. He's born richer than you'll ever be, he loves to spend it on his loved ones -and on cars and designer clothes- and amongst everything else he loves, he adores covering you in shiny little rocks.

No one has ever worn diamonds the way you do. You look beautiful without them, magnificent with them. They were made to enhance your beauty and you were made to give them sense.

"You're such a dick." You say, tone way too monotonous to still have been in total control of your free will. Your eyes are glued to the shine of the two dainty clear earrings nested in the case. He's holding it open in front of your nose, like a hypnotizing stick. He sees your determination wavers. Your arms have just untied. Your hand is getting close. He smiles already savouring his victory.

"Take them, petal, I don't think your new boy could ever afford them." Your hand freezes mid-track, face falling you look up. He's a bit surprised to see guilt in those eyes. Shame and guilt. Even though, you have the right to see whoever you want. Obviously.

"How-" His head tilts slightly towards the hallway, where the bedrooms and the one Timothy is in, probably playing with his new phone. "Great. Bribing our son into giving you off my personal information."

"I gave him the iPhone after he told me." Seokjin feels the need to precise. His son loves him and he confided for this very reason. He wants to believe. He hopes that it's not because he's worried his dad would have a mental breakdown if he were to learn the news the day his mom would invite him to their wedding or something.

You sigh. You don't know what to say it seems. He doesn't want you to feel upset. He's not going to congratulate you either. He can't.

"Take them."

"He could- he's a doctor, you know." You sound like a petty little girl saying that, fingers aiming for the box but mouth reshaped by contempt.

Thankfully, the mesmerizing glee on your lovely face makes up for this last information.

A doctor.

He snorts, huffs and rolls his eyes.

"Are you really being disdainful over the noblest of all professions?"

"I bet he's not as handsome as I am." Seokjin says, staring away into space in a very Vogue kind of pose.

"And it's relevant because your face saves lives too, right?" You add to his clownery, biting on the smile wanting to take over your face.

"Precisely." You're already putting them on, watching your fingers work in the reflection on the microwave door. He's loving it. One is on, reflecting the light coming from the window, bringing a new sense to your whole stance. You don't look tired anymore. You look very fancy. Sexier than before. Your butt sways a little in excitement when you take a new look at yourself, now beautifully decorated and he's reminded of an idea he once had but never got to realize.

He wanted to have a fashion designer make a garter holder made of tiny diamonds. Solely diamonds. It would fit you just right, maybe a bit tight on you, would dig slightly in the meat of your thighs, enough to look fucking sinful and not too much so it doesn't hurt. He was quite young when he had the idea first and was probably not rich enough to make it happen.

He now owns a few palaces perched on the last stage of skyscrapers in three of the most expensive cities in the world and he would sell one in a beat if it meant he could get that for you and see you wear it for him.

You'd probably end up accepting it and then wear it for your new boy so that's out the question.

He doesn't hesitate when he reaches a hand forward, slip his fingers through the tie holding your hair in a bun and slide it off. You don't even flinch, he's still allowed to do that.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you." You whisper with a smile, both for the compliment and for the present.

"You went to the hair salon." You nod, forcing yourself not to show your surprise. He doesn't need it to throw himself some flowers, "See? I noticed." He adds with way too much pride for so little.

"Your lenses work, congratulations." Sarcasm is the only answer to his stupidity, you both have figured this out long ago. "Is he nice?" Seokjin can't help but ask. He doesn't want to know too much about him. Kind of hopes that it won't be necessary as the guy won't last too long. But he can't resist his curiosity.

"Yes." You say without much of a hesitation. "Last week, he took me to this nice French restaurant in Songpa." You tell, eyes looking away, a bit pensive, mindlessly playing with one strand of your hair. Your face is taken over by that air. Seokjin realizes then that you really like him.

"I used to take you to very nice restaurants all the time, remember?" He's just messing around now. He knows it's not that relevant. Knows it won't get him higher in your regard,

"And I would spend half the date with the waiter while you'll have yours with your phone. I do remember." Especially given you don't recall your common past the same.

He does remember now that you mention it. His memory has been awfully selective and mainly, what he could picture when he thought about those times, is how beautiful you looked, how much he wanted you and felt like even sitting right next to you, he couldn't satisfy that need, was missing you even if you were right there, and the mind-blowing sex too. The later probably happening because he owed to make it up to you because indeed, his job was on the dates too and you hated that. He remembers the late mornings, the lazy ones, you'd make him carry you on his back because your legs and your hips hurt too badly.

"Ouch!" Toppling over, hand on his bosom where it actually really hurts, he yelps in agony, pretending to have been shot. You giggle and slap his shoulder, pester him to stop when you both hear Timothy ask from his room if everything's okay. You'd think he would know by now that his dad is just a clown whose shenanigans shouldn't be taken seriously.

"Are you seeing someone these days?" What a shame, Seokjin really thought for once he'd be solely cool and collected and handsome. Instead, he can feel his ears start to burn in embarrassment, walks a few steps back, pretending to want to throw a glance through the window when really, he'd do anything to not have see you notice.

"Someone?" He huffs. "Some three, actually some four or five. You know how the ladies get with me-" He sounds dumb as hell. It suffices to make you laugh. You've always laughed at his antics. Even when you were going through complicated times, like the pregnancy and the soon to follow break up, he'd try to dry your cheeks and lighten your gaze, heartbroken as he was to see you like that, and it would always work.

"And I know how bad you are with maths." He nods, doesn't look at you, simply stares at the shiny tip of his italian shoes. "You should call me sometimes, Jin." You don't need to tell him, he knows. You say that to him almost every single time. It's just you being kindhearted, the way you've always been. But first, he hates the idea that somehow, to some degree, it's a pity hand you're holding out for him. And secondly, he knows he'll fuck up if he calls.

He won't be able to talk about his job or politics or what's on the dumb tv these days. He'd probably start by asking what you're wearing and end it all by serenading you. What a bad idea. "You don't ever call, only Tim. Which is fine but-" He is lonely, he does miss you, but he's not that stupid. "I miss you too, you know." You look awfully sincere when you say this. There's still a sad shade to your eyes and he suspects it comes from you worrying about him rather than you simply wanting him more in your life. Maybe it's there for both reasons. He can't be mad at you for caring about him still, can he? Ultimately, it's sweet. It's not your fault he tends to be a loser in his very personal life.

He wouldn't know who he is trying to comfort when he strides forward and place a kiss on your cheek. The other one he's cradling in his palm feels warmer the longer he touches it. He doesn't let it go once he backs up and away. You're looking up to him with your eyes looking all round and childish. Quiet and in expectancy. You look like you do when you would wait for him to kiss you. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip and he smirks.

"Expecting me to kiss you?" He asks with an eyebrow raised high. Pretend judgment in his tone, even remonstrance. As if. "How scandalous, when you already have a boyfriend." You know he's just kidding and he can tell that. He wouldn't play with that if he wasn't sure. He doesn't want to hurt your feelings, make you feel wrong or bad in any way. He loves you too much for that. You could let him kiss you and he wouldn't hold you accountable for it. Therefore he does. Because he's dying to since the last time it happened a couple of weeks back. And when your own lips welcome his, with that much willing and tenderness, he suspects you've had too.

He doesn't allow it to go too far. He thought you would stop him, at some point, but you don't. He's the one pulling away when his tongue, instinctively, means to reach out for your own. He knows what comes after that, and what comes after that and after and after. And even if you transpire guilt and shame, he can sense in the way your eyes stare into his that you would have let it all happen.

He's not lacking in desire, he hopes you know that. Honestly, since earlier, and that random flash of the diamond garter holder, his brain is half clouded by the thought of your thighs and his face buried in between them. You used to make the most delicious sounds, pulling at the root of his hair and chasing your high with your hips. Also now that he's met your mouth again and he envisioned what could happen if he just let go, he can't help but think about that dresser in your room. The gigantic thing you wanted him and Timothy to put together as sort of a father and son enterprise to bound or whatever - he ended up paying a guy to do it for them and they played Mario Kart instead but you don't need to know that. Point of the matter is, that massive dresser has a massive mirror on its door and that massive mirror sits perfectly in front of your bed. And all he can think about is how bad he'd like to fuck you on your bed while you'd watch yourself in it. He'd pull back your hair, hold in tight in his fist like he knows you love so you could see your own cute face while his cock would reshape your cunt to its fitting, all this with the pretty little shiny earrings adorning your ears.

Fuck, what a concept.

And it is to say that right now, he knows, you'd let him. He's not that wicked though. He feels your too weak to resist him today therefore he's not even going to chance it. He doesn't want you to do something you'd hate yourself for afterwards.

"I should go, I still have documents to send for a new contract before-" He takes a look at the expensive watch heavy on his wrist, you roll your eyes. "Half an hour ago, great." He offers you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes no matter how hard he tries before he's off to the hallway, giving you his broad back. "I'm going to say bye to Tim."

"It's just- like that, Seokjin." The words are pretty badly chosen. They don't mean much. Seokjin still gets it though. He can picture you behind him, shrugging your shoulders and tilting your head to the side. It doesn't mean much.

"I know, petal. Don't worry." He throws over his shoulder, faux lightness in his tone even though his heart feels raw. It doesn't mean enough, is more accurate. This kiss like every single one of your shared looks and words and bickering and touches, they all mean that you still fit perfectly good together. However, it's not enough because somehow, someday, you came to the conclusion that you were not meant to be. He's confused as to why and how he agreed with you then. Here's the main reason why he never calls you.

When Timothy looks up from his new phone, wearing your eyes and his smile, he feels a whole new range of pain affected to his sensitized heart. How can you not see that you're meant to be?

A/N: Happy Lunar New Year :) this little thingy was inspired by Arsène Lupin and the relationship between Assane and Claire for those who watched it! I don’t know if i translated well the alchimy and unfightable attraction and connection they still have even after having seperated. ANYWAY, hope you all are doing fine, hope you liked this, LET ME KNOW what you thought, tell me about your day, your resolutions if you have any, what’s the weather like where you at etc lmao xoxo

PS: stay tuned for a new upcoming series i’m quite excited about ~~

#btswriterscollective #thekimlinenet #ksmutclub #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #seokjin fluff #seokjin smut #seokjin angst #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #seokjin scenario

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inupibaldspot · 3 years

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金継ぎ | KIN-TSUGI [ A Fruits Basket Fanfiction ]

Chapter 9

Tsubaki locked herself in her room for days. Akito would sometimes bang into the door as she cried for Tsubaki to open the door but there was no answer.

Often inside the room, the maids would hear Tsubaki coughing and sometimes moaning in pain, this was the impact off the curse of the servant who was denying her master.

However deep into the night there would be a knock on the door which was answered. Tsubaki only responded to Kureno and no one else. When he entered in room, Tsubaki would embrace him as he whispered comfort into her ear while wiping her tears, as she would then fall asleep in his arms.

However there was one night in particular which was different. Tsubaki was leaning against Kureno's shoulder as she felt a sudden emptiness making her turn her head to look at Kureno.

"You're here with me right now, right Kureno?" Tsubaki cupped his face as her voice trembled. No doubt someone left.

"Of course..." Tsubaki slowly turned away. The feeling she got right now was something she felt years ago, it was when Kureno's curse broke. She closed her eyes as a tear slipped. There was a pain within her as if her heart was ripped apart.

Kureno looked at her as pulled on his shirt, wiping her tears. "What's wrong?" Kureno's voice was gentle.

Tsubaki hesitated to speak but then she leaned into Kureno's chest. "How did you feel when the curse broke?" Someone's curse broke... but unlike Akito, Tsubaki did not know who until she saw the person face to face.

"It felt empty... Till that day I felt someone with me but all of the sudden I felt so alone." Kureno smiled looking at Tsubaki, playing with her hair. "I did not know whether I was sad or happy...frustrated or relieved."

"It is too complex for me to describe..."

"I see...."

.....

Tsubaki opened the window to her room. She sighed as she let the fresh air in as she then rested on the window sill.

She was yet to meet Akito or anyone else for that matter. However Tsubaki trembled as she imagined meeting Akito, for now she feels disappointed and hurt at Akito but if she were to meet her personally, Tsubaki knew all of these feelings will dissolve and be replaced with simply affection for Akito. That scared her.

Tsubaki listened to the gentle rustle of the leaves and the gentle breeze on her skin when all of the sudden she heard a commotion.

As much as she didn't listen, it was human nature to pay attention to the noise when an environment is otherwise silent. There seemed to be shouting, Tsubaki wondered if it was Akito.

Did she get into a fight with another zodiac members? Or is she simply throwing a tantrum... Tsubaki thought. Either way she did not want anything to do with it.

However her body betrayed her. Before Tsubaki could even register, she was walking towards the noise and there were continuous whispers I her mind. What if Akito gets hurt?

The scene which was in front of her horrified her. There was Ren who was holding a knife pointing towards Akito. Kureno and two other maids were also present.

Ren's hand shivered as she shouted. "I don't know what of Akira-san's you’re holding but give it back!" Her voice trembling. "It’s mine! Everything of Akira-san's belongs to me."

Tsubaki looked at the object she was referring to only to see a small box in Akito's hands. She vaguely remembered that box was given to Akito by the head maid to comfort the small child when Akira passed away. The head maid said that it contained Akira's soul.

"Mother, Calm down." Tsubaki stepped in. "We can talk this through-"

"Don't come in between me and Akira!" Ren shouted as she pointed the sharp object towards Tsubaki preventing her from taking another step in.

Kureno quickly grabbed Tsubaki as pulled her behind him. "Stay behind me..."

Akito sighed as she pulled a condescending smirk as she walked towards Akira. "If you really want it, I’ll give this stupid thing!" With that Akito threw the box up in the air.

Ren ran towards the box which was on the floor as she eagerly opened it. Her face then turned into a blank expression. "It’s empty..."

"That's right..." Akito smiled as tears slipped from her eyes. She looked away. "It has always been empty-" Akito swiftly turned as grabbed the knife, which was on the ground, as she raised it to stab it into Ren.

Akito suddenly stopped her action as she quickly faced Tsubaki. Tsubaki also had a similar expression. Once again there was a sudden feeling of emptiness. Someone's curse broke... Another end had come.

Ren looked at Akito, who stopped moving all together. "What's wrong? Weren't you going to kill me?"

"Shut up!" The head maid shouted, furious. "Why did you even bring a weapon here?" This caused another fight to break out between the two maids.

Akito slowly walked away leaving the room, looking weak. And when Ren and her maid left, there were only Kureno, Tsubaki and the head maid alone.

"Kureno-san please go to Akito." The head maid requested. "I want to talk to Tsubaki alone." The man gave a worried look but nevertheless agreed.

"Remember Tsubaki! You're supposed to serve Akito." The head maid starts as she looks at Tsubaki.

Tsubaki looked oddly unresponsive and empty. Her mind was still in daze but that did not stop the maid from continuing. "You all are bound by the bond and if you don't act properly you are no different from that monster cat-"

"I want to leave..." Tsubaki spoke.

The head maid gasped in shock. "What type of nonsense are you speaking Tsubaki-san?!"

"I'm honestly very tired..." Tsubaki spoke in a low voice. "Ever since I was young I followed what you taught and did whatever Akito said as if it was a law."

"But then when I was alone in the room for the past few days my mind went everywhere as I imagined all sorts of things." Tsubaki smiled. "I wondered if I had been born into a normal family, I would have known parental love. Spending mornings having breakfast with parents, doing the dishes and even having family outings at time. I always wanted to have something like that."

“I have realized that I have a person I love possibly more than I've loved Akito." Tsubaki wandered her mind to Kureno's gentle smile. She wondered if she left, he would go along with her. "But now I want to move out. I'm far too late for those experiences of my ideal family now but I can give that to my future children... I want to be my own person and build my own family with a person I dearly love...."

"B-but..." The head maid's voice stammered as she hands shaked. "If you were to leave just like the previous people who were bound was the servants you might die!"

Tsubaki turned away as she walked away. "I think...If I were to die while fulfilling that wish, my last thoughts would be 'I'm happy that I'm surrounded with people I love'."

Walking away Tsubaki noticed that it had started raining. The weather made the atmosphere quite dark.

Entering the hallways, she saw Kureno and Akito. They were embracing.

Ah... I forgot. Tsubaki thought as she felt her heart hurt at the sight. Even if I and Kureno were to love each other, we don't belong to one another. We belong to Akito.

Just as Tsubaki was about to walk away from the two Akito suddenly pulls out a knife, the one Ren had brought, as she impaled the object into Kureno's back.

Tsubaki brought her hands to cover her mouth from shock as her whole body went cold.

"Your kindness that half saved and half rejects me...Has been killing me!" Akito pulled away as she shouted. "So take responsibility and pay for it!"

Akito then walked out of the house and into the rain. "Atone with your death!" With those words she runs away.

"Kureno!!!"

Tsubaki rushed to his side, as he limped towards Akito. "Tsubaki... Forget about me. Go to Akito..."

Tsubaki stripped off her outer kimono as she placed it on Kureno's injury to prevent the blood from flowing out. "Don't be stupid!" She shouted as her lips trembled. "I'm not going to leave you."

"Somebody! Is anyone near?!" Tsubaki shouted.

Kureno looked at Tsubaki. The girl was crying as she kept turning her head around to search for the presence of other people. It's seemed as if Tsubaki seemed to be crying a lot these days. He disliked that.

Kureno weakly raised his hands as he cupped her face. "Are you crying for me?" He smiled at his own joke.

"Are you an idiot?! Who else is bleeding in my hands?" Tsubaki shouted. "Of course I'm crying for you."

"I'm happy...." Kureno left his conscious slowly drifting away as his vision started to blank. "Don't worry... I won't leave you... I already planned my future with you..."

Kureno knew he was never Tsubaki's top priority. She always priorities Akito.

Kureno knew Tsubaki's first love wasn't him. It was Hatori.

Kureno knew Tsubaki's kindness towards him. She was kind to all of the zodiacs.

But then more than other zodiacs she loved Akito. She never acted to have a relationship with Hatori even though they clearly loved each other when they were younger. She made sure to crush her feelings for Hatori because she knew Akito would never allow it.

Despite all that, Tsubaki finally turned to Kureno. She knew Akito would hate it yet she accepted Kureno's embrace. Even though she gave up on her love for Hatori, she expressed her love for him, Kureno. Even right now rather than Akito, she chose to stay by his side. Kureno was happy Tsubaki finally picked him over everyone.

.....

Tsubaki opened the door to Kureno's hospital room. She stayed there until Kureno regain consciousness after his surgery but was later forced by Kureno and Hatori both to go back home and rest for a while.

Going back home she took a bath, a small nap, made some food and even packed some to later feed Kureno.

Tsubaki noticed the man was lying in bed, his eyes closed. She smiled as she tried to walk as quite as possible as she placed the packed food on his table.

Walking towards Kureno, she took in his appearance. His brown hair which was quite messy and his face which looked a bit paler than usual, nevertheless she couldn't deny he was indeed attractive.

Rasing her hand she placed cupped his cheek as her thumb moved gently. Kureno shifted slightly as he tilted his head slightly. Tsubaki giggled at his actions. "So you're awake."

Kureno let out a small laugh as he opened one of his eyes. Tsubaki walked away with a smile. "Wake up. I got you some food." Making Kureno sit up as he leaned on his back.

While placing the food in front of Kureno, Tsubaki started. “I went to visit Tohru as well. It seems she has been recovering well."

"I see..." Kureno said as he picked up his chopsticks and picking up some rice from the bento box. "I glad that her injuries weren’t too serious."

"She kind of reminds me of you." Tsubaki laughed as Kureno gave a confused stare, his cheeks filled with food. "Both of you are incredibly kind and maybe abit clumsy... but I like both of you."

Kureno continues to eat his food before he starts speaking, his tone tense. "What about Akito? How is she?"

Tsubaki sighed as she looked outside the room. "Akito... Akito changed after meeting with Tohru. She has become calmer and gentle."

"Kureno, I feel like you might not want anything to do with Akito anymore." Kureno nodded when Tsubaki looked at him asking for confirmation. "But when I talked with Tohru...I realized that Akito was all this time very lonely. She has been raised with everyone around her telling she is special and nothing she does can be wrong..."

"I said those same things as well but now after seeing her again I want to rebuild my bond with Akito." Tsubaki bit her lips as she hesitated continuing. "I no longer want to see her as my master but rather treat Akito simply as my dear sister."

"There are many things she doesn't know about the outside so I hope that I can teach her and be by her side." Tsubaki looked into Kureno's eyes. "If I said I don't want to leave Akito yet stay with you... would you leave me?"

Kureno smiled as he placed a hand behind Tsubaki's head as he pulled her into an embrace. "I got you after so long, there is no way I'm letting you get away." Kureno kissed the top of her head comforting her. "Indeed I don't really want to personally be in contact with Akito now... but then I have nothing against you wanting to be with your little sister. I'll support whatever you want, Tsuabki..."

"Thank you-"

Tsubaki suddenly stopped speaking as she left something leave her, all of her senses completely heightened as she turned around to see what was causing it.

Behind her stood a man, he resembled a Shinto priest, who was looking at her as he stood by the window. A gust of wind flew into the room as a dragon gracefully flew towards him.

The man spoke, his voice was so gentle and elegant. "Thank you for taking care of her till the end." By her, he probably meant Akito, their God.

As he then held onto the dragon who pulled him from the room as they flew away. Back to their God.

Tsubaki suddenly remembered every time Hatori and she were seen together, the people would gush saying how it's was nice for the souls to be reunited. As according to the ancient story and their past self’s, the servant and the dragon loved each other dearly, sometimes as friends sometimes as lovers.

"Tsubaki?" But the one she loves now is him.

Kureno’s voice brought her back into reality as she finally turned to look at him. "The banquet has... The banquet has finally ended." Tsubaki's voice cracked as tears continued to fall.

"It feels so complicated. I've always lived with this but now that it's gone so suddenly... so abruptly I-I..." Kureno pulled her into an embrace.

Her then cupped her face as he placed a light kisses on her forehead. "I understand..." Kureno spoke. "But then it means you're free, my love. With this I want to take this opportunity to say I'm going to dedicate all of my being to you..."

Kureno looked at her. Tsubaki could feel his gaze simply full of affection towards her. "Let's make a new bond...just between me and you. A bond which will make me the happiest person alive."

"Will you till accept me even..." Tsubaki kept crying but this time to was full of happiness as she held Kureno’s hands. "Even if I have nothing to give you other than my broken self" She has done many things wrong in her life which hurt many along the way, all because of her coward-ness and insecurities.

Kureno laughed lightly as he peppered her with kisses all over, her eyes, cheeks, forehead and finally her lips.

"That's all I ever wanted. I'll always be with you picking up all your pieces and make sure to fill you with nothing but my love."

.....

"Akito."

Tsubaki looked at Akito was sitting down looking at the garden outside, beside her was a small package, a golden glow from the outside making her look so beautiful.

"Tsubaki..." Akito turned slowly as she looked at her. She opened her mouth as if to say something but closed it, only to suck in a deep breath. "I thought you won't come back?"

Tsubaki smiled. She is certain now. When she stayed away from Akito, Tsubaki wondered if she loved Akito simply due to the curse, but the way her heart warmed at the sight of Akito, what Tsubaki felt was genuine love. "How could I?"

"Tsubaki there is something I want to say..."

"What is it?"

"Can we start over?" Akito said, her voice barely audible. "I know the things I did to you were wrong and you might never forgive me...But still I want to see me grow into a better person..."

Tsubaki smiled as she cupped Akito's face. "Only if you call me onee-san... Like how you did when we were younger."

Akito's eyes glistened as she closed her eyes, bringing her hands to her chest in relief as she nodded her head.

Tsubaki turned to look at the package beside her. "Is this the gift Shigure bought?" Akito nodded. Truth is Tsubaki wanted to buy Akito a kimono as well, a gift for Akito who will embrace her true self from now on but it seems that Shigure was one step ahead of her.

"This is my gift for you..." Tsubaki pulled out a small rectangular box as she then opened it. It was a hair pin, beautiful sculpted as a red flower which would go well with Akito. Red always suited her.

Tsubaki smiled at Akito, which such a gentle yet doting expression. "Shall we get ready for the final banquet now?"

Tsubaki could hear loud voices from the room the door away connected. She turned back to look at Akito once more. The woman was dressed in a beautiful kimono even with light makeup adoring her face. Her gifted hairpin placed on one side of her hair.

"Akito, you look really beautiful rights now."

With that Tsubaki opened the door as she stepped in. "Good evening, everyone." Tsubaki bowed, when she straighten up she put on an elegant smile. "Akito is ready..." She then walked in and behind her Akito walked.

With Akito's entrance, everyone turned silent undoubtedly shocked at the reveal. "Hatori, where is Shigure?" Akito questioned.

Hatori snapped out of his daze as she shook his head. "I don't know..."

"Akito-san, don't tell me we have the same cross dressing hobby?!" Ritsu exclaimed in shock.

Akito's expression soured at the assumption. "No." She sternly denied as Tsubaki laughed. Akito never really was good with dealing with Ritsu and Ayame.

Akito elegant sat down as she faced the zodiac- no, former zodiac members. "Just as all of you were able to return to who you are, I'll return to my true self." Akito spoke. "You all are free..."

"I know I should have said something sooner but..." Akito bowed her head. "I apologize...." Besides Akito ,Tsubaki also bowed as well.

You don't have to forgive Akito but please do not let the past prevent you from having a future we always dreamed of. Please smile, please laugh, please experience love which we were not able to get when we were younger. Tsubaki thought.

Please have a happy future...All of you.

.....

"Mama!"

A woman turned around to look at a small girl who was clinging into her apron. The woman smiled at the tiny girl, who had glowing brown hair tied into a twin tail. "Are you done eating your pudding, Kaede?" She bent down.

Kaede smiled when her mother wiped the crumbs left on her cheeks. "Mama." She said once more. "I want to go visit Shiki-chan!"

The woman tiled her head as she smiled. "Do you love Shiki that much?"

The small girl nodded quickly as she raised her hands. "I love him thiiiiiis much! I love Hajime and Mutsuki as well! They told me Kaede is like a princess! "

Her mother laughed. "Let's not say that to papa, okay? I'm sure he'll faint if you say that."

The mother then hummed as she placed a hand on her face. "But I don't think we can go visit them if Kaede doesn't do her homework." She faked a pout.

The girl flinched as she took a step back. "Kaede will go do it right now!" With that the tiny girl ran away with sounds of tiny steps accompanying her.

The mother then walked to the living room, and in there she found her husband who had fallen asleep on the sofa. Smiling to herself, she raised her husband's head and placed it on her lap.

Noticing crumbs of the pudding on his cheeks as well just like Kaede, she smiled as she wiped them away. So clumsy… Her husband receiving her touch, leaned in. "You're not even asleep, Kureno. Stop acting."

Kureno slowly opened his eyes as he smiled looking at his wife's face. "Where is Kaede, Tsubaki?"

Tsubaki smiled. "She went to do her homework. Apparently she wants to visit Shiki."

Kureno sighed, disappointed. "Does that mean you're going to go away?" Kureno pouted.

"That's right." Tsubaki subconsciously started playing with Kureno's hair. "I heard Tohru is visiting as well so it's perfect."

"I'll miss you." Kureno smiled as he raised his hand and placed it behind Tsubaki's head. "Do come back quick." He said, as he pulled Tsubaki towards him, as he then kissed her. Tsubaki smiled as she leaned in, deepening the kiss.

"Ah!" A small voice exclaimed. "Papa move away from mama!" The girl rushed in as she started to pull Kureno away from Tsubaki.

Kureno started sobbing as he pretended to be pulled by Kaede’s strength. "Ehh? Why are you so mean to me?"

The girl huffed. "Because Mama is mine! And we are going to visit Shiki-chan!"

"Papa is sad that he'll be left alone."

Tsubaki's heart warmed up at the sight of her husband playing with her child. A scene she could have never have imagine when she was younger was reality now. From the bottom of her heart, she was happy.

A new bond which was accompanied with happiness and love embraced so gently which would remain for all eternity.

-The End-

masterlist

#fruits basket #fruits basket x reader #fruits basket imagine #fruits basket kureno #Sohma Rin #Sohma Isuzu #sohma hatori #sohma kureno

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kkrazy256 · 3 years

Text

Title: Pretend It’s Not Forever

Prompt(s): Day 4 Bonding | Laughter

Warnings: None

Characters: Boba Fett, Commander Fox, Bossk

Additional Tags: Deception Arc, Missing Scene, Canon-Compliant, Fox Helps Boba Escape Prison, Dialogue-heavy, Just Two Bros Having A Serious Chat While Breaking The Law

Word Count: 4130

Summary: Boba gets separated from Bossk during the prison escape and runs into a familiar face

[On Ao3]

@loving-fox-hours

It’s really no different than all those lockdown drills back on Kamino.

At least that’s what Boba keeps telling himself as he presses up against another wall to let a wave of prisoners run past without trampling him.

“Bossk?” He shouts over the noise, walking with his hands splayed against the metal of the corridor. He had lost the Trandoshan about two levels back. They hadn’t exactly been very good at making friends. Boba couldn’t just let himself look soft . He had already gotten laughed at enough for not being able to kill a Jedi, he wasn’t about to let them think he was an easy target. Never show weakness.

Bossk has gotten into enough fights on his behalf to run into a few assholes looking to get a final punch or two in.

“Boba, just go! I’ll catch up.” Bossk hisses, throwing one over his shoulder and baring his teeth at another. Two clones run into the hallway, shouting orders and raising their blasters. Bossk bowls them over with a snarl, and then Boba’s scrambling out of the area without looking back.

A Weequay skids around the corner, shoving Boba’s shoulder hard in his mad dash for freedom. He hisses, rotating his arm with a scowl. That Hardeen bastard’s grip had been tight, and the condescending air around him still stung deep within Boba’s chest.

You don’t want to do this.

Get him, Hardeen!

Kill that brat!

Show him how a real Jedi Killer does things.

He wishes Bossk would’ve let him try and kill the asshole after the fighting started in the mess hall. The guy hadn’t been anything special; Boba could’ve definitely taken him down if they went for a Round 2. The handful of credits from Bane would have to do for now. It should be enough to catch a ride to the lower levels. Maybe even a nerfburger to share with Bossk. He’s not going to miss the prison slop any time soon.

He flinches when another loud crack echoes down the halls. The drills on Kamino were never so chaotic. Here, there is yelling and the sound of blaster fire, both live and stun rounds. Some yells become shrill and just a touch too scared. Too hurt. It makes Boba feel cold. The monotone overhead speaker drones on, its facility on lockdown warning barely audible over everything else.

The passageways in the prison are darker than the blinding white of Kamino. They’re more narrow, with sharper turns that have Boba’s heart in his throat every time he peeks into a different hallway and waits for the inevitable blaster bolt to the face. It never comes, so he keeps moving.

He avoids running into any more prisoners, and the new area he’s in is relatively void of activity now. There’s an occasional squad of clones that hurries by, shouting orders into their communicators. It sounds like a majority of the riot has been contained. Boba hopes he’s going in the right direction.

Back on Kamino, everyone moved at a brisk but controlled pace. There had been rules on where everyone had to go and stand before the lockdown ended. There were protocols that told everyone which group they belonged with.

But Boba didn’t remember any of those; he never had to go with any of the others. All he had to do was find dad.

But there’s no dad here to look for. Boba swallows, standing straighter. There’s no dad anywhere. Not anymore. There are only others with his face and his voice. But it’s not the same. It’s not the same helmet, not the same tone. They’re all younger. Younger than dad, and in some screwed up way, younger than Boba too.

It’s not the same.

And dad hadn’t always been on Kamino. There were times where he’d be off-world for a job that he couldn’t take Boba along for. That left Boba wandering the halls, doing his best to look like he knew where he was heading.

If dad’s ever not on Kamino and there’s an emergency, he was supposed to find—

You go find Wolffe and the others in that group. You stick with them until I come home.

And you’ll come home soon, buir?

Of course, ad’ika. You’re here, so that’s where I’ll come home to.

That doesn’t mean osik now.

Wolffe is working with the Kel Dor Jedi that had brought him here in the first place. Boba had kept his head down when the Jedi met up with Wolffe on the trip to Coruscant ( how long has it been since then? He doesn’t even know anymore) . He hadn’t wanted to see the disgust that was probably obvious in Wolffe’s face.

Cody is working with that Kenobi bastard, but Hardeen had apparently taken care of him. Guess that guy isn’t half bad for a jerk.

He has no idea where Bly and Fox went after their deployment nearly two years ago.

And Ponds—

He slams a fist against the wall and the hollow ring lingers for several seconds. The clattering of plastoid in the adjacent corridor stops at the sound before coming closer. Boba lets out a soft gasp and barely manages to press himself into a small crevice in the wall just as three clones run by. He doesn’t breathe until the footsteps grow faint again.

And he had kil— Aurra had killed Ponds.

Aurra had.

But does it even matter? Ponds had been dead the moment Boba and his group boarded the Endurance . He had just been too dumb to see it at the time. Aurra is probably dead too. He remembers the other Jedi mentioning her crashing the Slave I in a fiery explosion.

His dad’s Slave I . Up in flames.

His dad’s buy’ce , in pieces back on the Endurance .

His father’s belongings, gone and with nothing to show for it. It’s just Boba, wandering the hallway of a prison trying to make his escape.

Some legacy he turned out to be.

Dad is gone, and Boba can’t go to Wolffe and the others. Especially not any other clone. He doesn’t have allies here, only enemies. He can’t trust any of them. No clone would come across him and see him as a friend. Not after what he’s done.

They’d come across him, stressed and with their blasters raised. And then…

Would they hesitate? Like Boba had?

Or maybe after all that he’s done, he doesn’t even deserve that?

He turns the corner without checking and hits against something solid, stumbling back onto his ass.

Plastoid.

Boba looks up and all he sees is red, white, and the black of two gun barrels aimed at his face.

He counts silently in his head, the tightness in his shoulders leaving as he relaxes. There’s nothing more he could do here.

He wonders how many seconds of hesitation he’s worth.

The hands holding the blasters lower.

“...Boba?”

He tenses, looking the clone over. Their armor is different from the typical guard’s. The colors are all the opposite. Most of them knew who he was, it isn’t like there are many like him being held here. But something tells him there is more going on than just that.

“Why don’t you just get it over with?” Boba juts his chin out, looking straight into the dark visor. The clone seems shocked that he had managed to meet eyes through the helmet, but Boba’s had enough practice to do it easily.

The gloved hands move purposely slow and Boba can’t blink.

They holster both blasters, and one reaches out to —

To him.

Boba can only stare, jaw dropping. What in the Stars does this mean?

“Boba, it’s Fox.”

Fox.

If there’s an emergency, you go find Wolffe, Ponds, Bly, Cody, or —

“Fox?” He whispers, taking the offered hand automatically and letting Fox haul him to his feet, “wh-you ended up being sent here?” He considers the kama and extra embellishments on the armor, “you’re a commander?”

“Even better, a Marshal Commander.”

The present situation comes rushing back, and Boba yanks his hand back the moment he’s steady. This isn’t Kamino. Fox isn’t just another clone being asked to watch over Boba while Jango’s out.

This is Coruscant. This is a maximum security prison. Boba is a prisoner during a riot. Fox is the Marshal Commander of the Guard.

There are no friends. Only enemies. Trust no one. Never seek out help.

He’s learned that the hard way. And he’s not about to fall for it again. He’s smarter than that, he’ll do better.

“Come on.” Fox says, jerking his head towards the end of the hallway.

As if.

Boba shifts his weight to the balls of his feet. It would take a second for Fox to unholster his blasters again. He has a chance.

Fox grabs him by his jumper, shoving him around the corner.

“hEY—”

“Shh!” The sound is hissed out, barely audible through the helmet’s speakers.

“Commander!”

Boba shuts his mouth and shifts just out of sight. Fox goes still, shoulders squared and back straight as he turns to regard someone.

“Report, lieutenant?” His voice is a lot more steely.

“The riot’s been contained. We’re mainly chasing stragglers now.”

“Casualties?”

“Over a dozen prisoners and eight troopers. Live and stun rounds were used.”

Boba’s heart skips and he breathes out through his nose. Bossk is strong. Bossk is okay. He has to be okay.

“Prioritize the critically wounded. We can’t have another medbay overflow. And the instigators?”

“We think we’ve got three that escaped via the crematorium.”

“Through the morgue?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The spaceport in sector 8 is the only route they can reach from there. Have Thorn’s team cut them off.”

“Yes, sir. General Yoda and General Windu are on the line. They want a status update.”

Boba hears Fox’s muffled curse.

“I’ll be with them after I finish clearing this level. Head back to Command and oversee until I return.”

“Yes, sir!”

The footsteps grow faint, and Fox prods him again, “lets go.”

Boba shuffles his way down the corridor with Fox at his heels.

Every so often, Fox would place a hand on his shoulder and steer him in a different direction. Moments later, a trooper would pass by the way they had just been headed.

He resists the urge to rub his shoulders. Fox is helping him. And Boba doesn’t understand why.

“Where are we going?” He bites his lip, and finally asks, “this isn’t the way back to my cell.” Is he being punished? Is he being brought to a different cell? A smaller one? One with no windows? No cellmate? None of those options sound good.

“Do you want to go back to your cell?” Fox simply says, and Boba scowls. He’s always been a snarky asshole, even back on Kamino. Boba doesn’t have time for this. He’s tired, hungry, and his shoulder still hurts from Hardeen’s hold. If he can’t escape, he just wants to be thrown back in his cell. And hopefully, Bossk would be there too.

If not, then maybe he got out. Without Boba. But getting left behind shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore.

“Where’s your scaly friend?” Fox asks, as if reading his mind. Boba huffs.

“Don’t know, lost him in the crowd. We were supposed to meet up again.” He pauses, squinting up at the blank visor, “he’ll be here any minute and then I’m out of here.”

“If he’s smart, he’ll be heading towards this sector.” Fox agrees, and Boba frowns.

“Why do you know about him anyway?”

“The reports say he was registered at the same time you were. The Guard tells me he’s been keeping an eye out for you.”

Fox has been keeping tabs on him, Boba realizes. He’s the Commander of the Guard, he knows that Boba’s been here since the day they brought him to Coruscant.

Fox hasn’t visited once.

Boba knows he shouldn’t have expected him to, even if Boba had hung out with his batch the most back on Kamino.

Because in the end, they all grew up without him. In the end, Boba isn’t one of them. He’s gotten one of them killed. He has gotten many of them killed.

Fox should be mad. So why is he...

“Why are you helping me?” Boba wants to stop walking, but Fox continues to gently push him forward, “you know what I’ve done.”

“And what is it that you’ve done?”

Boba takes two brisk steps ahead before whirling around to face Fox with a snarl, “Ponds.” The name echoes and it felt wrong for him to say.

“I…” He looks at the grey floor, he can’t stand looking at that blank helmet. But he doesn’t want to see the alternative either, “that was my fault.”

“It was Aurra Sing that killed him.”

“She shot him, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t part of the whole thing.”

Fox tilts his head, “she promised you something, didn’t she? Something that made you agree to work with her.”

Boba blinks, then blinks again when his eyes start to sting, “she said she knew him, that they worked together before….”

His hands shake from how tightly clenched they are, “she said she’d help me get revenge. For...for…”

“For the Prime.”

“For my buir .” His cheeks feel hot, and wet. Fuck , he’s too old for this.

“...I hurt a lot of people. A lot of clones.” He thinks of Jax. We’re all in it together. The betrayal etched across all those faces just like his own when he left the pod. The betrayal on all those older faces that will eventually be his own.

“You did, I saw the reports.”

“So why?” He sucks a breath in and his voice shakes, “why aren’t you angry!?” How can he just stand here, so damn calm while Boba’s the one falling apart? It’s just not fair.

“...Do you want me to be?”

No.

“Yes!” He throws his hands up, “it would make more sense than whatever the hell you’re doing right now. It’s treason, isn’t it? Isn’t that all you guys care about? Being loyal?”

He’s breathing hard, and Fox approaches him, kneeling down and holding a hand out. Boba turns his head towards the open palm. They’re large, hidden under a layer of fabric and protected by a dark red plate. It’s not the same.

“Boba, you’re—” Fox’s hand hovers for a long three seconds before he drops it back at his side, “you’re a damn kid. And under all those circumstances? I-, I can’t say that I agree or that I would’ve done the same.”

The gloved hands ball into fists before relaxing again, “but I understand, alright? It’s not as simple as right and wrong, and I sure as hell don’t see it that way either.”

Boba sniffs, rubbing his nose with a sleeve, “doesn’t make what I did okay.” He’s not going to pretend it is. Dad taught him to own up to his mistakes, even when it’s hard to.

“No.” Fox sighs, “no, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean jail is the right answer. There’s nothing in here for you.”

“There’s nothing out there for me either. I’m alone.”

Even back on Kamino, surrounded by so many just like him, he was alone. And as he grew older, he only found it to be more true.

“Well, you won’t always be. Sooner or later, you’ll find people who will want to be with you for you.”

“...And not because of what my dad left behind?”

He’s lost the helmet, he’s lost the Slave I . It’s just Boba now. Nothing but Boba. Is that enough for anyone?

“Just for you. People who won’t care about that reputation of yours.”

“...Do you mean it?”

“...Yes.” Fox answers softly. It’s the same dark visor staring back, but for a moment...Boba imagines there’s a face there. Not quite his dad’s, not quite his own, but a face.

“But…” Fox stands to full height, straightening out his kama before giving him a look, “that can't happen unless we get you out of here.”

He holds out his hand again.

Boba takes it without pulling away this time.

They navigate the halls in silence, dodging other Guard members every so often. The lieutenant had been right about getting the riot under control. Boba can no longer hear any more sounds of blaster fire. The amount of footfalls have decreased. They are running into less and less people.

“Are we almost there?”

“Almost.” Fox rolls his neck in a way that looks like he’s rolling his eyes instead, “if it were that easy to break out of prison, we’d all be fired.”

“You don’t get paid. I don’t think you can get fired.”

“Touché”

“Actually,” Boba looks up with a smile, “I think I’ve made more money bounty hunting than you’ve ever had in your life.”

“Way to rub it in.” He flicks the back of Boba’s head, and he resists the urge to kick the asshole in the shins. It would hurt his own foot more.

They continue walking.

“Do you remember what you said earlier?” Fox starts after a minute, voice sounding weird, “about loyalty?”

Boba frowns.

“What about it?”

“It’s true. We were trained to be loyal to the Republic. But you know what else we learned back on Kamino? Something that wasn’t taught?”

Boba raises an eyebrow, and Fox places a hand over his chest plate thoughtfully. He looks around, as if checking for someone listening.

“Our loyalty is with our vode, first and foremost.”

...Boba knows that. He’s no stranger to the closeness of the other clones back on Kamino that persists even after they’ve become grownups. Boba had his dad. The clones had...well, they have each other. They are vode . He knows that, so why is Fox telling him this now? Unless...unless?

“...Am,” He swallows his spit nervously, “am I one of the vode? Even though I’m not like you all? Even-, even though I screwed up?”

Fox sighs again, leaning down until—

Cool plastoid taps against his forehead, and Boba forgets to breathe. The hand on the back of his head scratches at the short, trimmed curls and Boba closes his eyes with a shudder. The last mirshmure'cya he had—

Beskar. Warm from battle. Dusty with the sand of Geonosis. Empty.

He no longer remembers how it feels anymore.

Until now.

“Ori’vod,” Fox’s voice is quiet, close enough to be heard without the robotic quality of his helmet speakers, “you never stopped being a vod.”

By the Ka’ra , Boba needs to stop crying in front of Fox.

“Asshole,” he shoves Fox away after an embarrassingly long time, hiccuping and rubbing at the corner of his eyes, “you know I hate it when you guys call me that.”

Fox snorts, reaching to rub the top of his head, “we know. But you are our littlest older brother, and nothing’s going to change that.”

“Quit it, di’kut ! Don’t touch me.” A squeak escapes him and he dodges more attacks on his buzzcut by skipping ahead with a grin.

Crash

He turns around just in time to see the overhead vent hit the ground and a blur of orange and green land on top of Fox.

Bossk .

The two tussle in a mess of limbs, snarling and hissing curses. Fox slams his head back, helmet nailing Bossk in the snout. The Trandoshan grabs the hand reaching for the holster. His other clawed hand grabs Fox by the head, pulling so his neck is exposed. He opens his mouth, rows of fangs gleaming in the lights as he dips down to bite—

“BOSSK, STOP!” Boba shoves his fingers between the gaping jaw, and Bossk immediately pulls away with a growl.

“How many times have I told you to not put your hands in my mout—”

“—Don’t hurt him! He’s okay, he was helping me!”

Bossk tilts his head, hands still wrapped around Fox’s throat while he kicks uselessly at Bossk’s side and scratches at tough, scaly skin.

“Boba, you know this one?”

“Yes! That’s my...my younger brother. So, so let him go already!” He demands.

Bossk looks between the two of them one more time before dropping Fox. The Commander lands on his knees, coughing and rubbing his neck.

“Younger brother, huh? Shit Boba, do I have to teach you math too?”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, leaning down to pull Fox to his feet, “you okay?”

“Not the worst I’ve had.” Fox mutters once he’s steady. He glowers at Bossk, “glad to see you finally caught up.”

The Trandoshan sneers at that, but doesn’t do more than flex his claws. Fox isn’t going for his blasters either, so okay maybe things aren’t too bad.

Boba catches Fox’s gaze, “you’re gonna let him leave too, right?”

“Funny if he thinks he has a say in it.” Bossk’s tongue darts out, flickering in the air.

Fox crosses his arms over his chest, “if you take three lefts from here through the vents, it’ll take you directly to a landing bay that isn’t being used. There won’t be any patrols there.”

“...that’s awfully kind of you, Commander. No traps or anything fun like that?”

“I just want to have your word.”

“On what?”

Fox pauses, looking down at Boba.

“That you’ll look out for him.”

Boba opens his mouth. He doesn’t need anyone to —

Bossk gives a teetering laugh, slamming a large hand over Boba’s head and rubbing it, “been doing it for months, no reason to stop now.”

“Quit it!” He does not whine . He doesn’t.

“Good. If I find out you ditched his sorry sheb , I’m dragging yours back here.”

Bossk grins.

“Now go, you don’t have much time.” Fox points at the open vent and Bossk nods.

It takes him one single leap to scurry his way back into the ceiling. Show off.

“Didn’t find anyone else crawling up there, did you?” Fox shouts as he kneels under the vent, cupping both his hands together. Boba takes a step onto it.

“None that I didn’t already toss out. It’s my escape route, I’m not sharing.”

Fox actually barks out a laugh, and it nearly startles Boba off his hand before he finds balance.

“Hey,” He whispers, and Fox looks up, “I uh…” His mouth feels dry, “thanks.”

“Remember what we talked about, alright? Don’t do anything stupid out here. You have to stick around to find those people.”

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Bossk groans from inside the vent, holding out a hand.

“But it seems like you’re not as alone as you thought, kid.” Fox hums.

“...Yeah.”

With that said, Fox gives him a boost and Bossk pulls him up the rest of the way.

“Clean up your damn mess.” Fox heaves the grate off the floor and hands it off to Bossk to put it back in place.

“Easy there, Commander. I might drop it again.” Bossk snickers, but does as he’s instructed.

Boba scoots his way over the grate, peering through the slits.

“Will I see you again?”

“...I don’t know. Maybe.” Fox’s voice sounds distant, “when the war ends.”

“Okay,” Boba nods, “don’t die before then.”

Fox gives another laugh that sounds weirdly choked up, “that’s my line, ori’vod.”

Boba grins, “ Ret'urcye mhi "

“ Ret'urcye mhi ."

The crawl towards the abandoned landing bay is quiet, the only sound being the rumbling of the vent space as they inched forward slowly. Bossk isn’t exactly light. Too much movement and noise would get them caught.

“You know,” Bossk finally says once they make the final left turn. The exit grate is in the distance, “I thought all clones were awful. But I guess that one’s okay.”

Boba turns with a frown, “hey! I’m a clone too, y’know.”

“I was including you in that statement.”

“Oh...okay.” He turns around, stops, then whips back again, “wait, in which way?”

“In that you’re also awful, kid.”

“You take that back!” He gasps, and Bossk cackles.

“C’mon, Boba. We’re here. You got that grate?”

He hmphs , grabbing the vent grate and shaking it.

“Yeah I got it, it’s loose enough.”

He pulls it off, letting it drop onto the ground below.

“...Boba?” Bossk’s voice draws him out of his thoughts when he doesn’t move.

“...what will we do now, Bossk?” He is ship-less. He has nothing but the handful of credits from Bane.

A hand settles on his shoulder, “whatever you want, little boss. I’ll be here.”

Boba pats the hand, lips curling up just enough for Bossk to respond with a toothy smile of his own.

Boba jumps out of the vent, landing on solid ground. He takes a deep breath, reveling in the air of freedom that surrounds him.

“I’ve got a name to make for myself.”

[ao3] if you wish to kudo/comment <3

#commander fox #boba fett #commanderfoxweek2021 #tcw #star wars #sw mine

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

Omega Mine

TITLE: Omega Mine

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 1/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Loosely based on: Imagine Loki discovers the Avengers have an omega who has healing powers living with them. He’s an Alpha and he wants her, badly.

RATING: M (eventually )

NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

“Nope, nope, fuck no. Why do all these companies suck?” You grumbled to yourself as you scrolled through job posting after job posting on your laptop. You were sitting on your bed absently eating a slice of pizza in your pajamas while you searched. You were hunting through the job listings looking for a company in search of an Omega.

That wasn’t at all atypical. Businesses that employed a lot of Alphas needed Omegas on staff to help keep the balance and the peace. Betas could only do so much against volatile Alpha tempers.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like your current job, but it just wasn’t the right fit. You’d worked at a few different companies since you’d graduated from college. The companies were all glad to have you around, but none of them had felt like the right fit. That was also typical. It took a few tries to find Alphas who really fit and felt like safety and home. It took longer to find such Alphas in an environment where you could use your degree or your magic, or something that made you more than just a typical Omega.

It could take forever or absolutely no time at all to find the Alpha. The one who was your mate and meant to be your love.

You hadn’t had any luck finding your Alpha yet, just as you hadn’t found the right company to work for. You’d temped a couple places as an admin, even though it wasn’t anything to do with your degree. You were now working again as an assistant and getting pretty tired of all omega jobs only being assistants or menial labor. There was nothing of substance. That made sense. Usually, Omegas couldn’t hold higher level positions. Alphas ruled and Omegas were cared for, by nature and by nurture. On the other hand, Omegas were the balance for an Alpha’s temper. They cared for the heart of the people, while the Alphas cared for the physical safety.

Any of the castes could marry any of the others and Omegas finally had some rights in the US, but the world was still highly unfair toward your caste. Omegas couldn’t own a house, for instance, or rent an apartment in your name. You could earn money and have a bank account of your own, thanks to the laws that had passed, but a lot of the world was still stuck in the old ways of thinking Omegas nothing more than pets. Or glorified sex slaves. Thankfully, things were changing slowly, but surely.

You lived in an Omega-house with other unclaimed Omega girls and walked every day to the office nearby where you worked. There was a Beta who acted as house mother as it was determined that Omegas couldn’t be trusted to care for themselves, so you weren’t allowed to live on your own. Despite that you were a college grad with a job.

It was either the Omega-house or still living with your Father. And that wasn’t an option. Not after you’d finally escaped to go to college at one of the universities that had accepted Omega students.

There was a knock on your door. You weren’t expecting anyone, but that didn’t mean one of the other Omega girls didn’t want to come visit, or the Beta coming to check on you. “Coming!” You called and set your piece of pizza back on the plate, wiping your hands quickly as you got to your feet. You padded silently over to the door, your steps light, despite the interruption. You opened the door to see the Beta on the other side. Your new house mother. “Hello, Beta Ann,” you greeted her politely. She was new and stuffy and still old-school enough that she wanted to be addressed by her title every time anyone spoke to her.

She gave you a warm matronly smile. It was a bit condescending. “Hello, dear,” she always spoke down to the Omegas, as if you couldn’t understand what she was saying. “I received your message that you wish to look for a new position?” She made it a question. It was her job to help you find something. Sometimes she could have better connections than the websites that the Omegas could access.

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, ma’am,” you replied politely. She really was stuffy and old schooled, but if she could help you… you’d be polite. “It isn’t that I dislike my position. It’s just… not the right fit,” you explained quickly, hoping she would understand.

She nodded sympathetically and looked over the clipboard she was carrying. “You’ve been in that position six months, I see. Yes, that’s plenty of time to realize it’s not the right fit,” she agreed. She looked up at you again. “I was actually going to speak with you regardless. A position crossed my desk that I thought you would be a good fit for, given your abilities,”

You perked up at that. A position for your abilities? Your skills? Not just because you were an Omega? “Really? What position?” You asked eagerly. You tried not to appear too eager. That would be impolite. It was a tentative balance.

“There is a group who is looking for an Omega. It’s a live-in position. All room and board is covered on top of a generous salary. They are specifically looking for someone with medical background and your healing abilities are very appealing to them,”

Medical background and healing?

And a proper home?

It sounded absolutely perfect.

“I’m definitely interested, ma’am,” you told her brightly.

She nodded her agreement. “Very good, dear. I’ll let them know and set up the interview for you. I’m sure it will just be a formality,”

Most Omega interviews were. The Alphas in charge didn’t need to interview, not really. They just needed to catch your scent or psychic scent and determine if you would fit in with their tempers and soothe their needs.

“Thank you, ma’am,” you told her politely. She gave you another condescending smile before she left you to set things up.

A few days later, you found yourself in front of your mirror adjusting your suit’s jacket for the billionth time before your interview. The suit looked good on you, and professional. Though you still knew that you had that Omega air about you. An Alpha or Beta could identify you on scent, on sight, even without the collar around your neck.

All Omegas were required to wear a collar once they presented as an Omega. Puppies (children) presented their secondary gender, their caste, officially toward the end of puberty, usually around 16 or 17 years old. There were usually signs before that of what a puppy would be when they matured and you’d heard that there was a test that puppies could take now to determine what they would present as.

The collar you wore was the generic collar every Omega wore until they were claimed by an Alpha. It was silver and plain, thin, not heavy at all, but you would never forget it was there, not since the day it had been locked on. Only an Alpha could remove it. And only your Alpha would, when you were claimed and mated, only to put his or her own collar on in its place. It was still a holdover from the old laws. You’d never gotten a good answer as to why. You always got some bullshit reason about knowing who to protect. Omegas were more rare than Alphas or Betas, so you weren’t surprised the law hadn’t changed.

There was nothing you could do about it. And it wasn’t ugly. But it did single you out as an unclaimed Omega. Especially at your age. There was no specific age to find your Alpha, but most Omegas you knew your own age were already claimed.

You knew it made you a target. You could be claimed against your will, mated against you will, if you didn’t already have an Alpha. That didn’t mean you were going to settle.

That was also why the company was sending a car to pick you up for your interview. Beta Ann had said that a Beta security guard from the company to escort you safely to and from the interview.

You made sure you had your phone in your purse as well as your resume before you headed out of the house. You said goodbye to Beta Ann and only left once the Beta security guard, a many named Happy of all things, rang the bell to collect you.

Your eyes widened when you saw the limo that was waiting to take you to the interview. What the hell kind of company was this? The information hadn’t been passed along to you. You didn’t know of Beta Ann knew or not. She didn’t deem it important enough information to tell you if she did know.

Happy opened the limo’s door for you and you thanked him softly and politely as you took the seat inside. He gave you the warm smile everyone gave Omegas. They couldn’t help it. Your presence was soothing to everyone. He shut the door behind you and got in the driver’s seat. Soon you were driving through the city, toward the city center. You watched out the window with interest, curious as to where this company could be. What this company could be.

You didn’t know what you were expecting.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t your limo stopping at the VIP parking in front of the Avengers’ tower. It wasn’t the press that were staked out to catch pictures of the superheroes and anyone who came to visit the tower. It wasn’t Happy parking in that VIP section and coming around to open your door again for you.

The Avengers.

You were interviewing for the Avengers.

You couldn’t believe your luck. This really was the perfect opportunity.

You understood immediately that this was a test.

An Omega who couldn’t handle the press, couldn’t handle the surprise of showing up at the tower, who broke down at any little uncertainty or surprise, wasn’t an Omega that would work out for the team and wouldn’t be what they needed.

Desperately in your soul, you knew that this was what you needed and you vowed to do anything in your power to make sure you got this job.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #Omega mine #chapter 1 #nekoamamori

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carothepoet · 4 years

Text

Perspectives

If anyone had asked, Jack would have said that he fell in love first. Somewhere in the murky middle of fiery blue eyes daring him to dismiss her capabilities, the comforting squeeze of her hand when an alien device pinned him to a wall, her uncanny ability to manipulate the laws of physics to save his ass over and over again, and the moment on a Goa’uld vessel with an energy field separating them and death staring them in the face, Samantha Carter had gotten possession of his heart and soul and taken up permanent residence there. That last instance was when he had known it for sure—looking into her panicked eyes and realizing he had two choices: leave her or die with her. Knowing also that there was no choice to be made, because there was no version of him in any reality that could go on living in a world without Carter.

Sir, just go!

NO.

It was a staggering revelation, and it complicated things a whole hell of a lot. He kept it to himself until it was forced out of him, and then he and Carter looked into each other’s eyes, counted the cost, and vowed to never speak of it again. The fate of the galaxy was too important. But no amount of pretending could change the reality, which was that he still loved her beyond all comprehension. He went about the days as normally as possible, leading his team and fighting the endless alien wars, trying not to think about the possibilities of someday, when it was unlikely either of them would stay alive that long. He hoped, at least, that he would go first. There is only so much loss a man can take.

Four years later, after he had saved the planet countless times and nearly died in every single instance, he was offered a position at the Pentagon. He jumped at it. Maybe now. Maybe? It seemed too much to hope.

He told Carter. You once asked me what might have been if things had been different. Well, now they’re different. Still interested in finding out?

He’d never forget the light that flooded her eyes, her smile out-dazzling the sun, as she practically launched herself at him and smothered him with a kiss eight years in the making. He’d kissed her once before, when the SGC had been trapped in a time loop. But this was better. This was real. She was kissing him, and she would remember it this time.

And with any luck, there’d be many more kisses to follow.

If anyone had asked, Sam would have said that she fell in love first. Even on the day they met, when Jack been a condescending ass and acted like she wasn’t worth his time, he’d changed his attitude the second she stood up to him. And then he’d insulted Samuels just to get a reaction out of her and she’d smiled before she knew what she was doing. I shouldn’t encourage him, she’d thought to herself, and he must have read her mind and considered it a personal challenge, because he’d had her choking back laughter and smothering smiles ever since.

It was unprofessional, of course, these forbidden feelings for her commanding officer. But she couldn’t help it, any more than she could help laughing at his stupid jokes. She thought, sometimes, that maybe he felt it too—there was a certain tenderness in his eyes when he smiled at her, and he often sought her out in her lab when she was buried in experiments.

Watcha doing? he would ask. She would explain. He would pretend to be too dumb to understand, say something absurd, and she would laugh. Get some rest, Carter. That’s an order.

He said her name like an endearment, and she held on to those moments and savored them. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe he didn’t love her. But she loved him, and she would follow him to the ends of the universe and save his ass as many times as he needed her to.

It ended up being a lot of times.

She went through hell and back trying to keep him safe, and she couldn’t decide if the revelation that he loved her back made it better or worse. Some days it was definitely worse.

She held on to hope until she couldn’t anymore, and then proceeded to almost make the biggest mistake of her life--nearly marrying Pete Shanahan. But when her father was dying, it was not Pete who stayed with her, who wrapped his arm around her and promised to be there for her, always. Sam looked into Jack’s steadfast brown eyes and saw the rest of her life.

By the time Jack was promoted to the Pentagon, she’d made up her mind. If he didn’t bring it up, then she was going to. She was damned if she would wait another single second when they both knew.

In the end, he brought it up. He’d barely gotten the words out of his mouth before she found herself kissing him, and the amazing thing was how familiar it felt, as if her lips had belonged on his since the beginning. His arms were home and his lips were both lazy Saturdays and off-world adventure, and every bit of pain and struggle and longing had been worth this perfect moment.

Stay with me, Carter?

Always, Sir. Always.

If anyone had asked, Teal’c and Daniel would have said that they knew Jack and Sam were in love long before those two idiots were aware of it, and that they had an ongoing debate on how long Jack and Sam could hold out before the unresolved sexual tension became too much to bear. Teal’c, for his part, maintained that both of them were far too professional to ever let their feelings get in the way of missions. Daniel wished they’d just get a room already and to hell with the consequences.

But it went on. And on. And on. For eight years. Eight years Daniel and Teal’c had to witness the yearning and the pining and the noble self-sacrifice; had to watch them fall apart with fear whenever one of them went missing; had to watch them try not to fall apart with relief when the other one finally turned up again.

Oh, you have returned! I worried about you a completely normal amount. I definitely did not push my health to the very brink of functioning in an attempt to rescue you. I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe, but, like, platonically. Of course.

It was exhausting.

No one was more relieved than Daniel when, on the same day that Jack accepted his position in DC, he came to Daniel’s house with the news that he and Carter were officially A Thing, but they did not want a big deal made out of it; and furthermore—

Fucking finally, said Daniel.

Jack grinned wickedly. Couldn’t have said it better myself.

If anyone had asked, General Hammond would have categorically denied knowing anything about it. Not that he didn’t see things. He saw pretty much everything that happened at his facility. He saw, for instance, the way Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter sat just slightly too close together at the briefing table; her knee brushing up against O’Neill’s arm as it rested on the armrest. He saw the looks they exchanged with each other; the way they could communicate paragraphs with a single glance, with a subtle lift of the eyebrows. He saw how O’Neill’s eyes softened when Carter entered the room; how Carter’s whole body lit up with suppressed mirth when O’Neill uttered whatever absurdity had made it past the brain-to-mouth filter.

He saw Carter’s desperation when O’Neill was stranded on Edora, and O’Neill’s despair when Carter’s brain was taken over by an alien entity.

I know Major Carter means a great deal to you.

She’s a very valuable member of my team, Sir.

Even with Carter’s likely and imminent death staring him in the face, O’Neill would not accept comfort from his trusted commanding officer if there was even the slightest risk it might damage her reputation. But he sat at her bedside and refused to leave it until she came back to herself.

Hammond often questioned whether their obvious attachment made them an asset or a liability. But time and again, SG-1 came through and saved the world, and he knew the effectiveness of that team came down, in large part, to the deep bond between O’Neill and Carter. Splitting them up could put the whole planet in jeopardy.

So, officially speaking, he saw nothing. And privately, unofficially, he was rooting for them. Because, damn it, the both of them had been through their own kinds of hell and they deserved to be happy.

He retired and left the facility to O’Neill. He was taking a final farewell look around his office when O’Neill swaggered in.

Hammond smiled. Are you ready for this?

Oh, absolutely, Sir. Not the slightest bit of…trepidation. O’Neill’s face belied his words, and Hammond reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

There is no one better for this job than you.

I will do my best to fill your shoes, Sir.

Hammond turned to go, hesitated, and faced O’Neill one last time. Jack, may I give you a piece of advice? As a friend.

O’Neill’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he gave a quick nod. Sure.

I have been a military man for most of my life. But I am also a family man. And while I would never advise you to break regulations—

General—

No, hear me out. Hammond put both hands on O’Neill’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. If you love her, find a way to make it work. You won’t ever regret it.

O’Neill blinked, perhaps in shock, and then his eyes began to twinkle. I don’t know what you’re talking about, General.

Of course you don’t. Hammond gave him an understanding clap on the shoulder and walked out.

Eighteen months later, when the wedding invitation arrived in the mail, he knew he should have been surprised but he wasn’t. On the back of the invitation, in Jack O’Neill’s distinctive scrawl, were two words:

No regrets.

Hammond threw back his head and laughed.

It was about damn time.

#stargate sg1 #stargate sg1 fic #jack x sam #jack o'neill #samantha carter #daniel jackson #teal'c #richard dean anderson #amanda tapping #fanfic

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something-very-special · 3 years

Text

Impressions

I know I’m way behind on progression through Replicant (insofar as anybody can be ‘way behind’ in the sense of playing a video game for personal entertainment), buuuut I figured I’d share a few thoughts.

Presently I’m doing sidequest mop-up post-Barren Temple, for reference:

So just to get this overall out of the way, I am legitimately fascinated by the differences between NIER and Replicant. This is something I picked up on when I played RepliCant to grab footage for my LP, but given my extremely limited understanding of Japanese all I could get was the tone between characters and to my unpracticed ear they sounded pretty different. I always assumed that Weiss was somehow even more condescending to Brother and hah hah, wow. Even kind of expecting the dialogue and delivery differences I was not prepared for some of the dialogue and delivery differences. Weiss just straight-up insulting BroNier on the regular, not even doing sarcastic eye-rolls like he does with Papa. I don’t remember the exact line that set me off but somewhere in the Barren Temple I was just laughing my ass off at how much of a dick Weiss is.

Thought the ‘miracles’ conversation in the Junk Heap was interesting, too. I remember Papa Nier telling Weiss to stuff it because ‘those kids need a miracle’ and Weiss kind of backs down-- obviously doesn’t believe it, but he knows better than to push. And Brother tries but Weiss is just not having this optimism bullshit. Little things, but the tenor of the relationship is definitely different.

One of the more interesting aspects early on is the way the Lunar Tear is treated. Obviously I don’t know if this was part of the original game or a script adjustment, but Brother talking about the Tear as a source of money as opposed to Father saying it can grant wishes was interesting. Maybe it was to justify that Kaine just has a whole necklace of the damn things and therefore it’s rare but not literally magic, but it always sounded like it was just meant to be taken as a myth to me anyway. Then again, it’s established in the Grimoire that Brother has a fixation specifically on making money so he can support himself and Yonah (versus Papa Nier, who has obviously already established himself as an adult rather than a kid still figuring things out and hoping that enough money will solve all their problems).

Where the dialogue doesn’t diverge is interesting, too. Mostly I’m talking about the scene after defeating Hook. I always found Papa Nier exclaiming “You’re going to live, Kaine!” and “Yes, we’re friends now!” to be obvious holdovers from a younger protagonist just goddamn hilarious when Papa Nier is saying them. They’re still really funny with Brother Nier but just remembering Papa Nier doing the exact same delivery in his deep, manly voice just re-elevated the whole scene into comedy gold.

All of that is really why I was interested in getting the game so already my money is well spent. But there’s some other stuff:

They butchered the OST! ...or so people keep telling me on Youtube. I admit I do think the re-orchestrations is largely inferior to the original (although there are some that are at least as good in a different way, and whatever they did to The Lost Forest -- which was one of my least favorite tracks in the original -- I really enjoy) but I wouldn’t call it a butchering and I highly suspect that if I didn’t have the eleven years of the original OST and its association within the game itself I wouldn’t bat an eye, it still all sounds great.

Also, a weird observation, but I found that the soundtrack sounds much better coming out of the TV speakers than through headphones. I’m not sure if somehow it was optimized for play through external speakers, or maybe just not hearing the added orchestration right up against my eardrums, but when I went to the Lost Shrine with headphones on I was admittedly disappointed, but going to it again and listening through the TV it worked significantly better.

(I’m not sure if this is necessarily a factor, but the booklet in the White Snow edition mentions that the new soundtrack was all studio mixed rather than having the individual tracks layered. While I don’t think that would have an impact on music quality it almost definitely makes a difference in the way it’s produced.)

I miss chest-thrusting to double jump Movement overall feels much more refined and polished. It’s not as slick as Automata, but it definitely feels like a natural evolution of the original game, and as an apologist for NIER’s combat I can appreciate that. A little more responsive, I appreciate being able to move while casting magic, and it still has a bit of a crunch behind weapon impact (although I wish it felt a bit heavier).

But goodness I miss the stupid animation for double-jumping. I mean sure, an aerial somersault is a classic indication of a double jump, but I just loved that Nier would chest-thrust so hard he would break the laws of physics and ascend higher.

It also feels a bit like the aerial dodge was nerfed for movement purposes? I really don’t feel as much horizontal thrust to get a running start after diving off the Library balcony.

Fully voiced? Fully voiced?! I knew this was happening but I totally forgot until the NPC villagers started talking to me! Some of the incidental deliveries are a bit awkward, but as somebody whose glasses prescription is a decade out of date I appreciate this immensely.

The item guy in Seafront just being from the goddamn Bronx is a thing of beauty.

BroNier does fit into the Village better. One of the little details I love in the game is that each bit of civilization has its own style. The maps aren’t large enough to really convey how long travel takes, but the different styles between the Village and Seafront just kind of helped to ‘place’ the characters in a really neat, subtle way (Emil’s sash identifies him as ‘belonging to’ Seafront, which is actually pertinent when you get that sidequest where you find the letter from his science-mom in town! I assume she always wore a kicky sash when she went to work in the underground child torture bunker.)

Facade obviously also has their own style, but it’s... hard not to appreciate.

Papa Nier’s dress doesn’t really ‘place’ him anywhere, which doesn’t feel weird for the main character, and I feel like it’s implied that he isn’t really from the Village in a meaningful way anyway and kind of drifted in at some point after Yonah had been born. But younger Brother Nier is actually wearing the local fashion and it’s a neat little detail that I didn’t appreciate back when I played PS3 RepliCant. (Probably because I didn’t bother talking to any NPCs what with not being able to read the dialogue, so I never really had him standing next to anybody for long enough to process.) Older Brother Nier takes on a very different outfit that winds up displacing him from the rest of the Village (and any other towns), which is a pretty nice visual metaphor, too.

I have a confession to make. I still enjoy fishing in this game.

Yeah I said it. I’ll say it again too-- I like the fishing minigame. I happily blitzed through the Fisherman’s available Gambits, and then just caught five sharks while I was hanging out, and then also caught the sandfish ahead of time, and also wound up with a half-ton giant catfish (??!?) trying to remember where the black bass are located.

Cart me away.

Related but I laughed far too hard when the fisherman says “the WESTERN beach”. I wonder why they changed that line. I just can’t imagine.

And those seals. Always a delight to go to early Seafront and just plant yourself between a couple of seals. Watch the ocean. Listen to the music and the waves. Watch the seals lazily roll around and make cute seal barks.

The most depressing thing about the timeskip is losing those seals.

My garden--! The gardening timeskip exploit was fixed due to a difference in PS4 architecture. :/ I know there’s still an exploit involving time zones but I didn’t go in knowing that and I was horrified when I adjusted the system clock only to find my crops weren’t growing. Is Legendary Gardener still a trophy? Fffffuuuuu

My BARREN TEMPLE. The Barren Temple is, to me, a legitimately funny dungeon, between Sechs getting himself abducted, Kaine getting herself abducted and Nier and Weiss just sighing in resignation, and the whole concept of the rules-based challenges. And the adjustment they made to the Prince’s dialogue before you meet him is so good-- the original felt a little disjointed and felt like it ended with the Prince being confused. It was still funny, but here Weiss just gives zero fucks about insulting the Prince (and presumably knows that’s exactly who he’s talking to) and it’s just great.

And I say all of that because I just died laughing when I got to the infamous Racing Wolf room and saw they outlawed evasion.

Evasion works differently in this game anyway so you wouldn’t have really been able to do the same trick before (dodge roll; in the original release you would dodge roll forward by tapping the button, but a default evasion has you backstep. Of course you could arrange BroNier to face away from the trap and then evade, but it would be significantly dicier, and I feel like the pattern on the shots was awkward enough that you wouldn’t have an opening in the second row (and probably would’ve have dodged your ass right into the bullets anyway). But just that they acknowledged the trick and then flipped you off with it was amazing. Aggravating? My amusement far outweighed my frustration since the Defend trick was still solid.

It also felt like more rooms outlawed jumping? That I can’t corroborate (I was really focusing on whether they did something to Racing Wolf, which is of course the most traumatic of the rooms) but I feel like it wasn’t as easy to cheese some of those rooms as it had been previously.

Dark Blast is amazing. Cheesed the shit out of the actual ‘Evasive Mouse’ room, though. I remember having some difficulties when the miniboss shows up since you can’t dodge out of the way of his lava pillar attack, but I just circle-strafed with Dark Blast and he died comically quickly.

This is actually more relevant to the magic as a whole, but in the time since I first played NIER (so... probably the time I fifth played NIER) I learned more about the little intracacies of the magic system. Like, really little intricacies, like how you can use magic with just a button tap and it actually has different effects... like Dark Blast dealing significantly more damage. It’s not as easy as just holding down the button and getting the multi-shot off the charge, but for a single enemy like that just rapid-fire tapping the button chews through the lifebar.

This tap strategy is really appreciated for Dark Hand (forward thrust punch) and Dark Lance (which is even better thanks to the game’s lock-assist-- a much appreciated quality-of-life adjustment), and I look forward to getting Dark Execution because of its fast activation feature (spreading the lances in a forward cone in front of you, extremely useful for crowd control when you can’t afford to wait for Execution to charge up).

Fragile Delivery still sucks. I don’t know why I had such a terrible time with the first Fragile Delivery but I broke that... Ming vase or whatever you’re delivering half a dozen times. Send that guy a steel rug instead, Guard #3, he is not worth whatever piece of art you had me destroy six times.

And the game still holds up. This is probably a ‘needless to say’ thing but yeah, this is still a great game. I always have a little bit of apprehension going back to something I loved just in case there’s a rose-colored effect going on. Not that I really expected that to happen with this game (I’ve played NIER recently enough that I didn’t think nostalgia would blind me) but, you know, always a possibility.

(That and that the remaster would be... perhaps of dubious quality. It happens.)

Nope! Still engaging. Still charming. I’m always impressed to go back to this game with all the knowledge of its inevitable misery and remember that it’s also just plain funny. NIER is one of those games that’s just like I remember it but better every time I go back to it.

I’m so glad that Automata did well enough to spur greater interest in this game. It really didn’t get the chance it deserved back in 2010 and now it’s topping some of the sales charts. That’s fantastic.

Just... fantastic.

#NIER #NieR Replicant #Musings #Now I just need Threads of Fate remastered and my life is complete #SE don't do that I know you'll ruin it

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 3 years

Note

You say the story of Rescue Team frustrates you? How come?

Rant ahead. Rant ahead about a game I unironically love, but I spend far too much time overthinking the plot of, hence my grievances.

Maybe I just held it to unfair standards on account of playing it for the first time after Explorers of Sky. Which is easily the greatest pokemon game ever made, accept no substitutes. Nah, Rescue Team DX is addicting, the music is incredible as always in these games, and the gameplay has been massively overhauled and made far superior to the original, which while fun, was pretty buggy. And the game does have some pretty cool characters, too. Like...whatever I may yell to the heavens about Albus Dumbledore from HP, make no mistake that he’s an exceptional and three-dimensional character. Same goes for Snape. And that applies to this game as well.

The main reason this game’s story irritates me comes down to Gengar and Alakazam. Again, they’re very well written characters...but I hate them. I despise both of them. I don’t know what it is, but Alakazam rubbed me the wrong way right from the start. Him and his whole team are so self-important, so arrogant. They condescend the MC and act like they’re the ruling body of the town square. Alakazam goes around telling people that he knows everything. That’s a god complex if you ask me. At several points, the characters make decisions based on the assumption that he is stronger than the MC, which you as a player never get to challenge. (Think of Leon from Sword/Shield, but a million times worse.) The Partner character is so in awe of them, so enamored by them. Yet behind MC’s back, Alakazam knows (or suspects) them to be the human of legend and doesn’t tell them “for their sake.” Which gives me strong Nozomi (SMT IV: Apocalypse) vibes, since later on he ignores all responsibility for having been "complicit" with the MC's secret.

The Fugitive Arc doesn't make any damn sense. First of all, Xatu claims that the disasters, all of the trouble, are being caused by the Human from the Ninetales Legend. Ninetales later debunks this. When I first played this game, I legitimately thought Xatu would wind up being some kind of secret villain, that he had lied, and that the Fugitive Arc was all started by him. This doesn't wind up being true, and we never get an answer for why he thought the Human of Legend was responsible for the state of affairs, nor did anyone question his being wrong or acknowledge his role in all this. But the one who really started everything was Gengar. He doesn't really annoy me until the Post-Game (I'll get to that) but everyone else's reactions to Gengar's story bother me. He is a known liar, a known trouble-maker who no one likes. It's well known that he has a vendetta against the MC. He has no proof whatsoever of his allegations. And everyone just buys it, despite MC now having a great reputation, because...I guess MC didn't actively deny it? Which the player was given no agency in? And it doesn't stop the accusation from being ridiculous?

Enter Alakazam. Apparently, everyone held a town meeting that must have taken all of ten seconds, to decide what to do about MC. They held this meeting without MC or the Partner present, because having them there would make too much sense I guess. Team A.C.T. prepares to...I guess kill MC? As well as the Partner, even though they're completely innocent. Before Alakazam hesitates and decides to give the MC a day to run away. Hold on, if he is so convinced that MC has to die to save the world, how do he justify letting them go? I guess the same way he justifies how he "knew" MC was the human of legend this whole time and said nothing about it? He bids MC to run, and throughout the entire Fugitive Arc, his team is the looming threat. Which was quite frustrating for me, already a Diamond Rank and probably higher leveled than Team A.C.T, because I would have been happy to settle things with Alakazam right then and there. It is beyond frustrating that the story denies me this chance. Not to mention, half of the town shows up to say goodbye when MC and the Partner take off. Like...okay, at least half of the town believes in MC. How in the hell is this even happening? Why do we have to flee when so many characters are on our side? When there's no proof? Why is Alakazam's word just considered law? If he “knows everything” how come he doesn’t know that Gengar is human as well, if he could sense MC’s humanity?

You don't know how badly I wish there was a fight with Team A.C.T. when all was said and done. And the game could have done it, too! Just have it take place at the top of the Mt. Freeze, before Ninetales shows up. They have a skirmish that takes place in a cutscene, but even in the remake - there's no boss battle. Why not? It's not like this dungeon has a boss battle otherwise. Wouldn't it have been a fitting conclusion to this arc? Maybe I'm biased, maybe I just think it would have been cathartic to kick Alakazam's ass, to make him put his money where his mouth is...because again, the arrogance. He demands Ninetales tell him what happened, and that "depending on your answer, I may be forced to eliminate MC" Ah, slow your roll there, buddy. Ninetales already broke up the fight and made it clear that it's not going to happen. You're a guest in their domain. On top of that, Team A.C.T. basically forbids you from going to Magma Cavern to challenge Groudon. As if you haven't just proven yourself capable of braving dangerous dungeons. As if, after they chased you halfway around the world and were proven completely wrong, they have any right to talk down to you or tell you what to do. Again, I so, so wish we could have fought them and taught them a lesson.

In general, this is a consistent thing with the other characters, following the Fugitive Arc. Everyone focuses on how happy MC and the Partner must be to have their names cleared, (Again, the Partner was accused of nothing. Like, literally nothing.) and no one stops to address that everyone in the Town Square should be falling to their knees and begging our forgiveness for what they put us through. Several of them tried to kill us. Upon returning to the Town Square, Gengar acts like MC is turning them-self in because they don't have any proof, even though he never had any proof to begin with, and it's only after MC is "cleared" by Team A.C.T. that everyone remembers that Gengar is untrustworthy. Reading the words "under the watchful eye of Alakazam" has always made me extremely salty. I don't have much to say about the Mankey brothers but they irritated me as well. Maybe I was just out of patience after the Fugitive Arc but I found myself wondering why we appeased them at all. Initially, we give them the chestnuts because they attack us if we don't. No matter how many times we beat them, they keep attacking if they're told no. I realize it's a staple in Pokemon games to have false yes/no choices, but those are especially noticeable in the games that focus on story. And sometimes the excuses are just pathetic. Meanwhile, the other pokemon continue to treat you as rookies, as kids. You are once again "forbidden" by...um, the other townsfolk, from going on the Rescue Mission until you talk them into it. It's like...guys. You put us through hell. We could have died a dozen times over, because you bought into the mob mentality for no good reason. How does everything just go back to normal after that?

I don't mind Gengar at first. He's a villain, and a well-written one. He's got a clear personality and there's hidden depth in there as well. He's one of my favorite characters in the game, easily. And all of the stuff he does in the main story? Stealing the mail, manipulating Caterpie, and the stuff during the Fugitive Arc? That weird psychedelic sequence where he's dragging MC down to hell at the end? (Or whatever that was?) All fine by me. He's a villain. He's doing bad things. But sweet Arceus is Gengar annoying in the Post-Game. I wonder if this must be how Merula Snyde Antis feel, over in the HPHM Fandom. Because the MC has absolutely no motivation or reason to help him out. He just demands that they act as his bodyguard, offers nothing in return, and won't leave you alone until you say yes. Buddy, my team has like thirty pokemon at this point and they're all hanging out in the Friend Areas a few feet away. You think you can intimidate me? The only reason I'm helping is to progress the storyline. And throughout this entire storyline, you have to help Gengar even though he hasn't earned it.

He does not deserve forgiveness, or a reconciliation with Gardevoir. What if I don't want to help him because I don't think Gardevoir would want to see him? What if I think that it would do her no good to see him? He's unrepentant and awful, the story does the bare minimum to suggest that he's changed. Now I will admit one thing: I love the moment that Ninetales first appears, sees Gengar, and simply goes "...What do you want." Like. Like that was the moment that I put it together, before he went on to tell the rest of the story. I love simple moments that make the big reveal crystal clear without needing to directly tell or show the audience. I've always dug that. But everything that happens after that is frustrating. Gengar demands the curse be lifted, despite having no justification to offer Ninetales. He threatens to attack them, but then clarifies that MC will be the one doing the fighting. Excuse me? Why would I ever do that? MC just found out the truth about Gengar, what he did to Gardevoir, and then how he pinned it all on them during the fugitive arc. Gengar, why would I attack Ninetales after this, instead of attacking you? Tell me I don't initiate battle against you right now? Thankfully MC doesn't have to actually fight Ninetales, but they are still forced to testify at Gengar's "trial" and it's a forgone conclusion because no matter what answers you give, it's treated as MC acknowledging his growth and he is forgiven at the end.

Oh, I’ve just thought of something else. MC isn’t given a reason for why they have to leave the Pokemon world, or why they were able to return. Explorers gave a reason. Gates to Infinity and Super Mystery Dungeon made a whole post-game story out of their reasons. Here? We get nothing. MC’s “role” has finished and so they have to return to the human world. Never mind what they want. Not until after the dramatic moment where they have to leave has passed, anyway. That voice at the end who suggests that we may be able to see our partner again just by “wishing.” Who the hell was that? What did they mean? Look, by Pokemon standards, the Rescue Team story is quite substantial. By Pokemon Mystery Dungeon standards? It’s...probably the weakest story. I mean, to be fair, Super Mystery Dungeon had the endless schoolhouse arc that added up to nothing in the second act. But hell, that was still fun. And I suppose the Fugitive Arc and Gengar’s “redemption” were fun too. Just frustrating as well.

#Pokemon #Pokemon Mystery Dungeon #Pokemon Mystery Dungeon Rescue Team DX #pokemon mystery dungeon rescu #Team A.C.T.#Pokemon Team A.C.T.#Pokemon Games

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

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All in the Family

Chapter 102: The Ministry of Magic

Lily was fortunate enough to land on a chair, but it wasn't neat. The chair rocked back as she landed in it, she lost even that small bit of leisure as she fell even farther forward and her foot got stuck in the armrest, and the rest of her messily fell to the floor with her foot still stuck. Lily tried to extract herself, but the chair wouldn't budge to give her room to get out from under the desk, something blocking it was the only explanation for why it wouldn't roll farther. So she craned her head around to see that Lupin was wedged between the chair and the wall, someone's shoe was dangling over the side of the desk, and pieces of parchment were fluttering everywhere. And that's just what she could see.

"Everyone alright?" she called, her voice oddly strangled-sounding because of her awkward position.

"Yep!" Potter replied with chipper. "You, Evans?"

Lily groaned and let her head fall against the back of the inside of the desk as the others all replied they were okay.

"Where are we?" Alice asked, squirming uncomfortably as she was literally wedged between the two desks, but unable to move forward with Regulus directly in front of her smushed against the wall, or Potter jammed against the door.

"A very, very tiny office," the older Black pointed out dryly, sitting the most comfortably on what must be Arthur's desk judging by the photo of his family adorning it.

"At least it's better than Harry's or Aragog's cupboard," Pettigrew groaned, sitting on the other desk like it was a saddle and not looking happy for it, but as unable to readjust as anyone else with another on either side of him. "Where's the book?"

There was some shifting and shuffling, but not much, before Frank's voice rang out from the opposite side of Arthur's desk, it must have fallen to the floor, it was a miracle he'd even been able to stretch enough to reach it. "I've got it." He cleared his throat for a moment before beginning, "The Ministry of Magic."

"Who wants to bet the door won't open?" Lupin grumbled, he'd been squashed before now, but the chair felt like a new insult digging into his stomach. No matter which way he moved, he couldn't budge an inch though with Regulus just as stuck, leaving Lily in her current predicament. "Who has an office this small, anyway? For two?" If even just James could get out they could all find a way to move an inch...

"Erm... Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, of course," the younger Black mumbled in near-exasperation. He must be somewhere that he can see something. Lily was slightly surprised not to hear a note of smug condescending in his voice at the mention of Muggles; instead, he sounded rather shocked and bewildered.

Harry's morning routine was uninterrupted until Black let out a snort at Tonks's exhaustion. "I stayed up for almost a whole week once, one night is nothing!"

"You'll do anything for a bad grade," Frank marveled, then read on quickly before more comments could be made.

Harry was given various pieces of good advice from the adults in his life, and Molly tried to mother him, despite his unvoiced wishes. Lily did not need anyone to tell her that Potter was likely ruffling up his hair again with an eternally smug look on his face as Molly tried to do the opposite to Harry.

Rather quickly, Mr. Weasley took Harry off to the Ministry with his endless fascination for Muggles and their things.

"Wait," Lily yelped, "this isn't his office, is it?" She felt slightly stupid for not realizing this earlier.

A moment of silence, and then Alice murmured, "oh, that poor man," and Sirius Black muttered, "so what nutter works with him?"

Lily would have thrown him a nasty look for that, but he seemed to guess at this anyway and quickly rectified, "not that that's a bad thing, but you do have to be kind of unusual to want to work with him."

"What're you implying about yourself, Padfoot?" Lupin demanded.

"Was just wondering that myself," Black's brother mumbled.

Harry was escorted inside the ministry by Mr. Weasley, who seemed to know everybody's names. Everything was going normally enough, until they entered the lifts-

Black gasped in horror, and Lupin, at least, from what Lily could see, slammed his head into the wall as the dramatic Black continued, "what nightmare is this future! They have laws about Sirius Breeding?!"

Lily gave a little snort of laughter, realizing too late the place was too small to go unnoticed when Potter yelped in true fright, "don't encourage him!"

The younger Black grumbled, "I've always said my greatest contribution to wizarding society would be a selective version of Silencio, so you can hear everything else he says but not that. Oh wait, what am I thinking, I should just silence all of him!"

Pettigrew snickered from the desk above her.

"I should be offended, but you just made a joke, so I'll pass," Sirius sighed. "The things you people do to me."

Frank finally snapped, "can you all let me read? I want to get out of here, you know!" His tone left Lily in less doubt than before that the rest of them are as cramped as she is.

So they all fell silent as Harry's experience of going up the Ministry lift was detailed. At one point, Frank paused just long enough to mutter about owls being used for only indoor flying, and if by 'used to' Mr. Weasley meant recently or not, and whether that was a thing in their own timeline, but kept going loudly before anyone could pick up on what he'd said.

Harry traveled through the Ministry, gawking at all the magical sights, which only Lily could appreciate, being the only Muggle-born in the group. It was noteworthy at one point Lupin shrank so far against the wall with a miserable look on his face the chair almost could have moved, and it took her repeating the level that Frank passed over so casually to remind herself why the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical creatures would cause a reaction in anyone. Lupin wasn't just anyone anymore though, but technically, well, a beast. The moment passed so quickly though, if she hadn't been watching him from her janky position, she never would have seen such a thing, and it did not feel her place at all to even bring it up. What was there to say?

The others were interested as well, of course, but more so when Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up again, acting as if he'd barely spoken to Mr. Weasley in his life.

Sirius again stalled the proceedings by loudly exclaiming over Kingsley's Sirius-plastered cubicle. "What a lovely thought, me on all sides! Why couldn't we have landed there?"

"Padfoot, he's hunting you!" Potter groaned in exasperation.

"Eh, he's only faking it, remember?" Sirius retorted, and fell into a smug silence that Lily could sense even from under the desk as the conversation continued to be stuck on Sirius with only whispered asides about the Order.

Then, Mr. Weasley led Harry to his office, which was slightly smaller than the broom cupboard, and Lily finally had her answer about the size of the space. "I can't believe they put him in here!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I can see Percy's point about his position in the Ministry, this is an absurd amount of disrespect to the man just because he works with Muggles!" She took a moment to wonder if it's Perkins's desk she was stuck under, and if so, then if Harry had been here, his feet would have been in her face. She grimaced.

Mr. Weasley babbled on about his work and regurgitating toilets, until his partner showed up with news about the trial.

Lupin tried to sit up from between the chair and the wall, and despite failing, his scowl was at nothing in here with a foul temper. "I can't believe them! They changed it on purpose!"

Mr. Weasley seems equally angry as he hurries Harry back to the lift and mutters about it the whole time. Finally, they arrive at the courtroom, and, of all things, Mr. Weasley sends Harry in alone.

Frank barely had the presence of mind to warn them of the end of the chapter before they were whisked away.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #Marauders #Wolfstar #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith #Lily Evans #Ootp

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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Enola Holmes: A Not So Elementary Adaptation

It's cliché and a bit unfair to say that the book was better than the film, but I'm afraid that's precisely where I need to start. Nancy Springer's Enola Holmes: The Case of the Missing Marquess is leagues better than Netflix's adaptation of it. They did her work dirty and to say that I'm shocked at the accolades other reviewers are heaping on the film is an understatement. Before I dive into any critiques though, it's worth acknowledging that not every minute of the two hour film was painful to get through. So what worked in Enola Holmes?

The film is carried by the talent of its cast, Millie Bobby Brown being the obvious heavy-hitter. She helps breathe life into a pretty terrible script and it's only a shame her talent is wasted on such a subpar character.

The idea to have Enola continually break the fourth wall, though edging into the realm of Dora the Explorer at times—"Do you have any ideas?"— was nevertheless a fun way to keep the audience looped into her thought process. Young viewers in particular might enjoy it as a way to make them feel like a part of the action and older viewers will note the Fleabag influence.

The cinematography is, perhaps, where most of my praise lies. The rapid cuts between past and present, rewinding as Enola thinks back to some pertinent detail, visualizing the cyphers with close ups on the letter tiles—all of it gave the film an upbeat, entertaining flair that almost made up for how bloated and meandering the plot was.

We got an equally upbeat soundtrack that helped to sell the action.

The overall experience was... fine. In the way a cobbled together, candy-coated, meant to be seen on a Friday night but we watched it Wednesday and then promptly forgot about it film is fine. I doubt Enola Holmes will be winning any awards, but it was a decently entertaining romp and really, does a Netflix film need to be anything more? If Enola was her own thing made entirely by Netflix's hands I wouldn't be writing this review. As it stands though, Enola is both an adaptation and the latest addition to one of the world’s most popular franchises. That's where the film fails: not as a fun diversion to take your mind off Covid-19, but as an adaptation of Springer's work and as a Sherlock Holmes story.

In short, Enola Holmes, though pretty to look at and entertaining in a predictable manner, still fails in five crucial areas:

1. Mycroft is Now a Mustache-Twirling Villain and Sherlock is No Longer Sherlock Holmes

This aspect is the least egregious because admittedly the film didn't pull this version of Mycroft out of thin air. As the head of the household he is indeed Enola's primary antagonist (outside of some kidnappers) and though he insists that he's doing all this for Enola's own good, he does get downright cruel at times:

He rolled his eyes. “Just like her mother,” he declared to the ceiling, and then he fixed upon me a stare so martyred, so condescending, that I froze rigid. In tones of sweetest reason he told me, “Enola, legally I hold complete charge over both your mother and you. I can, if I wish, lock you in your room until you become sensible, or take whatever other measures are necessary in order to achieve that desired result... You will do as I say" (Springer 69).

Mycroft's part is clear. He's the white, rich, powerful, able-bodied man who benefits from society's structure and thus would never think to change it. He does legally have charge over both Enola and Eudoria. He can do whatever he pleases to make them "sensible"... and that right there is the horror of it. Mycroft is a law-abiding man whose antagonism stems from doing precisely what he's allowed to do in a broken world. There are certainly elements of this in the Netflix adaptation, but that antagonism becomes so exaggerated that it's nearly laughable. Enola's governess (appointed by Mycroft) slaps her across the face the moment she speaks up. Mycroft screams at her in a carriage until she's cowering against the window. He takes her and throws her into a boarding school where everything is bleak and all the women dutifully follow instructions like hypnotized dolls. Enola Holmes ensures that we've lost all of Springer's nuance, notably the criticism of otherwise decent people who fall into the trap of doing the "right" (read: expected) thing. Despite her desire for freedom, in the novel Enola quickly realizes that she is not immune to society's standards:

"I thought he was younger.” Much younger, in his curled tresses and storybook suit. Twelve! Why, the boy should be wearing a sturdy woollen jacket and knickers, an Eton collar with a tie, and a decent manly haircut—

Thoughts, I realised, all too similar to those of my brother Sherlock upon meeting me (113-14).

She is precisely like her brothers, judging a boy for not looking and acting enough like a man just as they judged her for not looking and acting enough like a lady. The difference is that Enola has chaffed enough against those expectations to realize when she's falling prey to them, but the sympathetic link to her brothers remains. In the film, however, the conflict is no longer driven by fallible people doing what they think is best. Rather, it's made clear (in no uncertain terms) that these are just objectively bad people. Only villains hit someone like that. Only villains will scream at the top of their lungs until a young girl cries. Only villains roll their eyes at women's rights (a subplot that never existed in the novel). Springer writes Mycroft as a person, Netflix writes him as a cartoon, and the result is the loss of a nuanced message about what it means to enact change in a complicated world.

Which leaves us with Sherlock. Note that in the above passage he is the one who casts harsh judgement on Enola's outfit. Originally Mycroft took an interest in making Enola "sensible" and Sherlock— in true Holmes fashion—straddles a fine line between comfort and insult:

"Mycroft,” Sherlock intervened, “the girl's head, you'll observe, is rather small in proportion to her remarkably tall body. Let her alone. There is no use confusing and upsetting her when you'll find out for yourself soon enough'" (38).

***

"Could mean that she left impulsively and in haste, or it could reflect the innate untidiness of a woman's mind,” interrupted Sherlock. “Of what use is reason when it comes to the dealings of a woman, and very likely one in her dotage?" (43).

A large part of Enola's drive stems from proving to Sherlock, the world, and even herself that a small head does not mean lack of intelligence. His insults, couched in a misguided attempt to sooth, is what makes Sherlock a complex character and his broader sexism is what makes him a flawed character, not Superman in a tweed suit. Yet in the film Mycroft becomes the villain and Sherlock is his good brother foil. Rather than needing to acknowledge that Enola has a knack for deduction by reading the excellent questions she's asked about the case—because why give your characters any development?—he already adores and has complete faith in her, laughing that he too likes to draw caricatures to think. By the tree Sherlock remanences fondly about Enola's childhood where she demonstrated appropriately quirky preferences for a genius, things like not wearing trousers and keeping a pinecone for a pet. They have a clear connection that Mycroft could never understand, one based both in deduction and, it seems, being a halfway decent human being. We are told that Enola has Sherlock's wits, but poor Mycroft lucked out, despite the fact that up until this point the film has done nothing to demonstrate this supposed intelligence. (To say nothing of how canonically Mycroft's intellect rivals his brother's.) Enola falls to her knees and begs for Sherlock's help, saying that "For [Mycroft] I'm a nuisance, to you—" implying that they have a deep bond despite not having seen one another since Enola was a toddler. Indeed, at one point Enola challenges Lestrade to a Sherlock quiz filled with information presumably not found in the newspaper clippings she's saved of him, which begs the question of how she knows her brother so well when she hasn't seen him in a decade and he, in turn, walked right by her with no recognition. Truthfully, Lestrade should know Sherlock better. Through all this the sibling bond is used as a heavy-handed insistence that Enola is Sherlock's protégé, him leaving her with the advice that "Those kinds of mysteries are always the best to unpick” and straight up asking at one point if she’s solved the case. The plot has Enola gearing up to outwit her genius brother, which did not happen in the novel and is precisely why I loved it. Enola isn't out to be a master of deduction in her teens, she's a finder of lost people who uses a similar, but ultimately unique set of skills. She does things Sherlock can't because she is isn't Sherlock. They're not in competition, they're peers, yet the film fails to understand that, using Sherlock's good brother bonding to emphasize Enola's place as his protégé turned superior. He exists, peppered throughout the film, so that she can surpass him in the end.

You know what happens in the novel? Sherlock walks away from her, dismissive, and that's that.

That's also Sherlock Holmes. I won't bore you with complaints about Cavill being too handsome and Claflin being too thin for their respective parts, but I will draw the line at complete character assassination. Part of Sherlock's charm is that he's far more compassionate than he first appears, but that doesn't mean he would, at the drop of a telegram, become a doting older brother to a sister of all things. Despite the absurdity of the Doyle Estate's lawsuit against Netflix for making Sherlock an emotional man who respects women... they're right that this isn't their character. Oh, Sherlock is emotive, but it's in the form of excited exclamations over clues, or the occasional warm word towards Watson—someone he has known and lived with for many years. Sherlock respects women, though it's through those societal expectations. He'll offer them a seat, an ear, a handkerchief if they need one, and always the promise of help, but he then dismisses them with, "The fairer sex is your department, Watson." Springer successfully wrote Sherlock Holmes with a little sister, a man who will bark out a laugh at her caricature but still leave her to Mycroft's whims because he has his own life to tend to. This is a man who insists that the mind of a woman is inscrutable and thus must grapple with his shock at Enola's ability to cover the "salient points" of the case (58). Cavill's Sherlock is no Sherlock at all and though there's nothing wrong with updating a character for a modern audience (see: Elementary), I do question why Netflix strayed so far from Springer's work. The novel is, after all, their blueprint. She already managed the difficult task of writing an in-character Sherlock Holmes who remains approachable to both a modern audience and Enola herself, yet for some reason Netflix tossed that work aside.

2. Enola is "Special,” Not At All Like Other Girls

Allow me to paint you a picture. Enola Holmes is an empathetic, fourteen-year-old girl who, while bright, does not possess an intelligence worthy of note. No one is gasping as she deduces seemingly impossible things from the age of four, or admiring her knowledge of some obscure, appropriately impressive topic. Rather, Enola is a fairly normal girl with an abnormal upbringing, characterized by her patience and willingness to work. Deciphering the many hiding places where her mother stashed cash takes her weeks, requiring that Enola work through the night in secrecy while maintaining appearances during the day. She manages to hatch a plan of escape that demonstrates the thought she's put into it without testing the reader's suspension of disbelief. More than that, she uses the feminine tools at her disposal to give herself an edge: hiding her face behind a widow's veil and storing luggage in the bustle of her dress. Upon achieving freedom, her understanding of another lonely boy leads her to try and help him, resulting in a dangerous kidnapping wherein Enola acts as most fourteen-year-olds would, scared out of her mind with a few moments of bravery born of pure survival instinct. She and Tewksbury escape together, as friends, before Enola sets out on becoming the first scientific perditorian, a finder of lost people.

Sadly, this new Enola shares little resemblance with her novel counterpart. What Netflix seemingly fails to understand is that giving a character flaws makes them relatable and that someone who looks more like us is someone we can connect with. This Enola, simply put, is extraordinary. She's read all the books in the library, knows science, tennis, painting, archery, and a deadly form of Jujitsu (more on that below). In the novel Enola bemoans that she was never particularly good at cyphers and now must improve if she has any hope of reading what her mother left her. In the film she simply knows the answers, near instantaneously. Enola masters her travels, her disguises, and her deductions, all with barely a hitch. Though Enola doesn't have impressive detective skills yet, her memory is apparently photographic, allowing her to look back on a single glance into a room, years ago, and untangle precisely what her mother was planning. It's a BBC Sherlock-esque form of 'deduction' wherein there's no real thought involved, just an innate ability to recall a newspaper across the room with perfect clarity. The one thing Enola can't do well is ride a bike which, considering that in the novel she quite enjoys the activity, feels like a tacked on "flaw" that the film never has to have her grapple with.

More than simply expanding upon her skillset—because let’s be real, it’s not like Sherlock himself doesn’t have an impressive list of accomplishments. Even if Enola’s feelings of inadequacy are part of the point Springer was working to make—the film changes the core of her personality. I cannot stress enough that Enola is a sheltered fourteen-year-old who is devastated by the disappearance of her mother and terrified by the new world she's entered. That fear, uncertainty, and the numerous mistakes that come out of it is what allowed me to connect with Enola and go, "Yeah. I can see myself in her." Meanwhile, this new Enola is overwhelmingly confident, to the point where I felt like I was watching a child's fantasy of a strong woman rather than one who actually demonstrates strength by overcoming challenges. For example, contrast her meeting with Sherlock and Mycroft on the train platform with what we got in the film:

"And to my annoyance, I found myself trembling as I hopped off my bicycle. A strip of lace from my pantalets, confounded flimsy things, caught on the chain, tore loose, and dangled over my left boot.

Trying to tuck it up, I dropped my shawl.

This would not do. Taking a deep breath, leaving my shawl on my bicycle and my bicycle leaning against the station wall, I straightened and approached the two Londoners, not quite succeeding in holding my head high" (31-32).

***

"Well, if they did not desire the pleasure of my conversation, it was a good thing, as I stood mute and stupid... 'I don't know where she's gone,' I said, and to my own surprise—for I had not wept until that moment—I burst into tears" (34).

I'd ask where this frightened, fumbling Enola has gone, but it's clear that she never existed in the script to begin with. The film is chock-full of her being, to be frank, a badass. She gleefully beats up the bad guys in perfect form, no, "I froze, cowering, like a rabbit in a thicket" (164). This Enola always gets the last word in and never falters in her confident demeanor, no, "I wish I could say I swept with cold dignity out of the room, but the truth is, I tripped over my skirt and stumbled up the stairs" (70). Enola is the one, special girl in an entire school who can see how rigid and horrible these social expectations are, straining against them while all her lesser peers roll their eyes. That's how she's characterized: as "special," right from the get-go, and that eliminates any growth she might have experienced over the course of the film. More than that, it feels like a slap in the face to Springer's otherwise likeable, well-rounded character.

3. A Focus on Hollywood Action and Those Strong Female Characters

It never fails to amaze me how often Sherlock Holmes adaptations fail to remember that he is, at his core, an intellectual. Sure, there's the occasional story where Sherlock puts his boxing or singlestick skills to good use, and he did survive his encounter with Moriarty thanks to his own martial arts, but these moments are rarities across the canon. Pick up any Sherlock Holmes story, open to a random page, and you will find him sitting fireside to mule over a case, donning a disguise to observe the suspects, or combing through his many papers to find that one, necessary scrap of information. Sherlock Holmes is about deduction, a series of observations and conclusions based on logic. He's not an action hero. Nor is Enola, yet Netflix seems to be under the impression that no audience can survive a two hour film without something exploding.

I'd like to present a concise list of things that happened in the film that were, in my opinion, unnecessary:

Enola and Tewksbury throw themselves out of a moving train to miraculously land unharmed on the grass below.

Enola uses the science knowledge her mother gave her to ignite a whole room of gunpowder and explosives, resulting in a spectacle that somehow doesn't kill her pursuer.

Enola engages in a long shootout with her attacker, Tewksbury takes a shot straight to the chest, but survives because of a breastplate he only had a few seconds to put on and hide beneath his shirt. Then Enola succeeds in killing Burn Gorman's slimy character.

Enola beats up her attackers many, many times.

This right here is the worst change to her character. Enola is, plainly put, a "strong woman." Literally. She was trained from a young age to kick ass and now that's precisely what she'll do. Gone is the unprepared but brave girl who heads out onto the dangerous London streets in the hope of helping her mother and a young boy. What does this Enola have to fear? There's only one martial arts move she hasn't mastered yet and, don't worry, she gets it by the end of the film. Enola suffers from the Hollywood belief that strong women are defined solely as physically capable women and though there's nothing wrong with that on the surface, the archetype has become so prevalent that any deviation is seen as too weak—too princess-y—to be considered feminist. If you're not kicking ass and taking names then you can only be passive, right? Stuck in a tower somewhere and awaiting your prince. But what about me? I have no ability to flip someone over my shoulder and throw them into a wall. What about pacifists? What about the disabled? By continually claiming that this is what a "strong" woman looks like you eliminate a huge number of women from this pool. The women we are meant to uphold in this film—Enola, her Mother, and her Mother's friend from the teahouse—are all fighters of the physical variety, whereas the bad women like Mrs. Harris and her pupils are too cultured for self-defense. They're too feminine to be feminist. But feminism isn't about your ability to throw a punch. Enola's success now derives from being the most talented and the most violent in the room, rather than the most determined, smart, and empathetic. She threatens people and lunges at them, reminding others that she's perfectly capable of tying up a guy is she so chooses because "I know Jujitsu." Enola possesses a power that is just as fantastical as kissing a frog into a prince. In sixteen short years she has achieved what no real life woman ever will: the ability to go wherever she pleases and do whatever she wants without the threat of violence. Because Enola is the violence. While her attacker is attempting to drown her with somewhat horrific realism, Enola takes the time to wink at the audience before rearing back and bloodying his nose. After all, why would you think she was in any danger? Masters of Jujitsu with an uncanny ability to dodge bullets don't have anything to fear... unlike every woman watching this film.

It's certainly some kind of wish fulfillment, a fantasy to indulge in, but I personally preferred the original Enola who never had any Hollywood skills at her disposal yet still managed to come out on top. That's a character I can see myself in and want to see myself in given that the concept of non-violent strength is continually pushed to the wayside. Not to mention... that's a Sherlock Holmes story. Coming out on top through intellect and bravery alone is the entire point of the genre, so why Netflix felt the need to turn Enola into an action hero is beyond me.

4. Aging Up the Protagonists (and Giving Them an Eye-Rolling Romance)

The choice to age up our heroes is, arguably, the worst decision here. In the original novel Enola has just turned fourteen and Tewksbury is a child, twelve-years-old, though he looks even younger. It's a story for a younger audience staring appropriately young heroes, with the protagonists' status as children crucial to one of the overarching themes of the story: what does it really mean to strike out on your own and when are you ready for it? Adding two years to Enola's age is something I'm perfectly fine with. After all, the difference between fourteen and sixteen isn't that great and Brown herself is sixteen until February of 2021, so why not aim for realism and make her character the same? That's all reasonable and this is, indeed, an adaptation. No need to adhere to every detail of the text. What puzzles me though is why in the world they would take a terrified, sassy, compassionate twelve-year-old and turn him into a bumbling seventeen-year-old instead?

Ah yes. The romance.

In the same way that I fail to understand the assumption that a film needs over-the-top action to be entertaining, I likewise fail to understand the assumption that it needs a romance—and a heterosexual one to boot. There's something incredibly discomforting in watching a film that so loudly proclaim itself as feminist, yet it takes the strong friendship between two children and turns it into an incredibly awkward, hetero True Love story. Remember when Enola loudly proclaims that she doesn't want a husband? The film didn't, because an hour later she's stroking her hand over Tewksbury's while twirling her hair. Which isn't to say that women can't fall in love, or change their minds, just that it's disheartening to see a supposedly feminist film so completely fall into one of the biggest expectations for women, even today. Forget Enola running up to men and paying them for their clothes as an expression of freedom, is anyone going to acknowledge that narratively she’s still stuck living the life the men around her want? Find yourself a husband, Enola. The heavy implication is she did, just with Jujitsu rather than embroidery. Different method, same message, and that’s incredibly frustrating when this didn’t exist in the original story. “It's about freedom!” the film insists. So why didn't you give Enola the freedom to have a platonic adventure?

It's not even a good romance. Rather painful, really. When Tewksbury, after meeting her just once before, passionately says "I don't want to leave you, Enola" because her company is apparently more important than him staying alive, I literally laughed out loud. It's ridiculous and it's ridiculously precisely because it was shoe-horned into a story that didn't need it. More than simply saddling Enola with a bland love interest though, this leads to a number of unfortunate changes in the story's plot, both unnecessary additions and disappointing exclusions. Enola no longer meets Tewksbury after they've both been kidnapped (him for ransom and her for snooping into his case), but rather watches him cut himself out of a carpetbag on the train. I hope I don't have to explain which of these scenarios is more likely and, thus, more satisfying. Meeting Tewksbury on the train means that Enola gets to have a nighttime chat with him about precisely why he ran away. Thus, when she goes to his estate she no longer needs to deduce his hiding spot based on her own desires to have a place of her own, she just needs to recall that a very big branch nearly fell on him and behold, there that branch is. (The fact that the branch is a would-be murder weapon makes its convenient placement all the more eye-rolling.) Rather than involving herself in the case out of empathy for the family, Enola loudly proclaims that she wants nothing to do with Tewksbury and only reluctantly gets involved when it's clear his life is on the line. And that right there is another issue. In the novel there is no murderous plot in an attempt to keep reform bills from passing. Tewksbury is a child who, like Enola, ran away and quickly discovers that life with an overbearing mother isn't so bad when you've experienced London's dangerous streets. That's the emotional blow: Enola has no mother to go home to anymore and must press out onto those streets whether she's ready for it or not.

Perhaps the only redeeming change is giving Tewksbury an interest in flowers instead of ships. Regardless of how overly simplistic the feminist message is, it is a nice touch to give the guy a traditionally feminine hobby while Enola sharpens her knife. The fact that Enola learned that from her mother and Tewksbury learned botany from his father feels like a nudge at a far better film than Enola Holmes managed to be. For every shining moment of insight—the constraints of gendered hobbies, a black working class woman informing Sherlock that he can never understand what it means to lack power—the film gives us twenty minutes worth of frustrating stupidity. Such as how Enola doesn't seem to conceive of escaping from boarding school until Tewksbury appears to rescue her. She then proceeds to get carried around in a basket for a few minutes before going out the window... which she could have done on her own at any point, locked doors or no. But it seems that narrative consistency isn't worth more than Enola (somehow) leaving a caricature of Mrs. Harris and Mycroft behind. The film is clearly trying to promote a "Rah, rah, go, women, go!" message, but fails to understand that having Enola find a way out of the school herself would be more emotionally fulfilling than having her send a generic 'You're mean' message after the two men in her life—Sherlock and Tewksbury—remind her that she can, in fact, take action.

Which brings me to my biggest criticism and what I would argue is the film's greatest flaw. Reviewers and fans alike are hailing Enola Holmes as a feminist masterpiece and yes, to a certain extent it is. Feminist, that is, not a masterpiece. (5) But it's a hollow feminism. A fantasy feminism. A simple, exaggerated feminism that came out of a Feminism 101 PowerPoint. To quote Sherlock, let's review the salient points:

A woman cannot be the star of her own film without having a male love interest, even if this goes against everything the original novel stood for.

A feminist woman cannot also be selfish. Instead she must have a selfless drive to change the world with bombs.

The best kind of women are those who reject femininity as much as they can. They will wear boy's clothes whenever possible and snub their nose at something as useless as embroidery. Any woman who enjoys such skills or desires to become lady-like just hasn't realized the sort of prison she's in yet.

The best women also embody other masculine traits, like being able to take down men twice their size. Passive women will titter behind their hands. Active women will kick you in the balls. If you really want to be a strong woman, learn how to throw a decent punch.

Women are, above all, superior to men.

Yes, yes, I joke about it just as much as the next woman, but seeing it played fairly straight was a bit of an uncomfortable experience, even more-so during a gender revolution where stories like this leave trans, nonbinary, and genderqueer viewers out of the ideological loop. Enola goes on and on about what a "useless boy" Tewksbury is (though of course she must still be attracted to him) and her mother's teachings are filled with lessons about not listening to men. As established, Mycroft—and Lestrade—are the simplistically evil men Enola must circumvent, whereas Sherlock exists for her to gain victory over: "How did your sister get there first?" Enola supposedly has a strength that Tewksbury lacks— he's just "foolish"—and she shouts out such cringe-worthy lines as, "You're a man when I tell you you're a man!"

I get the message, I really do. As a teenager I probably would have loved it, but now I have to ask: aren't we past the image of men-hating feminists? Granted, the film never goes quite that far, but it gets close. We’ve got one woman who is ready to start blowing things up to achieve equality and another who revels in looking down on the men in her life. That’s been the framing for years, that feminists are cruel, dangerous people and Tewksbury making heart-eyes at Enola doesn’t instantly fix the echoes of that. There's a certain amount of justification for both characterizations—we have reached points in history where peaceful protests are no longer enough and Tewksbury is indeed a fool at times—but that nuance is entirely lost among the film's overall message of "Women rule, men drool." It feels like there’s a smart film hidden somewhere between the grandmother murdering to keep the status quo and Enola’s mother bombing for change, that balance existing in Enola herself who does the most for women by protecting Tewkesbury... but Enola Holmes is too busy juggling all the different films it wants to be to really hit on that message. It certainly doesn’t have time to say anything worthwhile about the fight it’s using as a backdrop. Enola gasps that "Mycroft is right. You are dangerous" when she finds her mother's bombs, but does she ever grapple with whether she supports violence on a large scale in the name of creating a better world? Does she work through this sudden revelation that she agrees with Mycroft about something crucial? Of course not. Enola just hugs her mom, asks Sherlock not to go after her, and the film leaves it at that.

The takeaway is less one of empowerment and more, ironically, of restriction. You can fight, but only via bombs and punches. It's okay to be a woman, provided you don't like too many feminine things. You can save the day, so long as there's a man at your side poised to marry you in the future. I felt like I was watching a pre-2000s script where "equality" means embracing the idea that you're "not like other girls" so that men will finally take you seriously. Because then you don't really feel like a woman to them anymore, do you? You're a martial arts loving, trouser-wearing, loud and brilliant individual who just happens to have long hair. You’re unique and, therefore, worthy of attention, unlike all those other girls.

That's some women's experiences, but far from all, and crucially I don't think this is the woman that Springer wrote in her novel.

The Case of the Missing Marquess is a feminist book. It gives us a flawed, brave, intelligent woman who sets out to help people and achieves just that, mostly through her own strength, but also with some help from the young boy she befriends. Her brothers are privileged, misguided men who she nevertheless cares for deeply and her mother finally puts herself first, leaving Enola to go and live with the Romani people. Everyone in Springer's book feels human, the women especially. Enola gets to tremble her way through scary decisions while still remaining brave. Her mother gets to be selfish while still remaining loving. They're far more than just women blessed with extraordinary talents who will take what they want by force. Springer's women? They don't have that Hollywood glamour. They're pretty ordinary, actually, despite the surface quirks. They’re like us and thus they must make use of what tools they have in order to change their own situations as well as the world. The fact that they still succeed feels very feminist to me, far more-so than granting your character the ability to flip a man into the ground and calling it a day.

Know that I watched Enola Holmes with a friend over Netflix Party and the repeated comment from us both was, "I'd rather be watching The Great Mouse Detective." Enola Holmes is by no means a horrible film. It has beauty, comedy, and a whole lot of heart, but it could have been leagues better given its source material and the talent of its cast. It’s a film that tries to do too much without having a firm grasp of its own message and, as a result, becomes a film mostly about missed potential. Which leads me right back to where I began: The book is better. Go read the book.

Images

Enola Holmes

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

Enola and her Mother Doing Archery

Enola and her Mother Fighting

Tewkesbury and Enola

#Sherlock Holmes #Enola Holmes #mymetas

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norrrington · 4 years

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rules of engagement | pirates of the caribbean | ao3

Governor Swann throws a lavish engagement party for the newly betrothed James and Elizabeth, but the celebration is interrupted when James receives an unexpected correspondence from his estranged father.

hello! as my lovely friends and followers know, a few days ago i published a norribeth fic on ao3 and made a post about it here, but unfortunately tumblr’s new arbitrary tagging rules prevented it from showing up in any of the relevant tags. in an effort to circumvent this i’ve decided to publish the body of the work in plain text here, but i also have a link to it on ao3 if you would prefer to read it there or would like to leave a kudos or comment (which i would very much appreciate)! i hope you enjoy it. thank you so much for reading :’)

Approximately two hours into the party, she loses him.

Truthfully, the engagement ball had been her father’s suggestion. Despite James and Elizabeth’s obvious disdain for such functions—James, ever the picture of graciousness and cordiality, expressed his feelings considerably meeker than his fiancée—the governor could not forego the opportunity to celebrate the impending union of his only daughter and the decorated Commodore he’d always loved as a son.

The couple obliged him gratefully, though both found themselves shocked at the grandeur with which the event was thrown. The guest list not only boasted the presence of Port Royal’s finest, but a smattering of Weatherby’s contacts in London who were exceedingly happy to make the arduous trip, if only to determine for themselves the veracity of the legends about the Royal Navy’s fabled “Scourge of Piracy”.

Much to her surprise, Elizabeth finds herself in thorough enjoyment of the evening. She’s never cared for the social obligations of her station, but the thin gold band that newly adorns her left hand brings with it feelings of security and warmth, much like the man to whom it tethers her. James has been a steady fixture in her life since her early adolescence, treating her with kindness and respect at an age when she was frequently dismissed and condescended to by those in lower positions than he. She fondly recalls the countless times he patiently entertained her insatiable curiosities about his exploits at sea, even occasionally gifting her trinkets from his military escapades abroad. As she grew older, her adolescent infatuation with him bore heavier water, which he returned in spades of ardent devotion during their courtship.

She feels a small smile pull at the corners of her lips as she remembers the night of his proposal. It was an uncharacteristically cool evening in Port Royal, and the newly-minted Commodore had escorted her away from the suffocating crowd and toward a parapet overlooking the serene, sparkling waters of the Caribbean. Their mutual contempt for social engagements was a hallmark of their relationship, and she chuckles to herself thinking of the myriad dinner parties and elaborate balls during which they’d traded snide comments in conspiratorial whispers.

She takes great pride in cracking his stoic facade, causing him to spurt startling barks of laughter at inopportune moments that draw irate glares from their guests and color the tips of his ears a deep, bashful red. She enjoys this side of him, in large part due to the fact that it seems solely reserved for her. Under no other circumstances does he waver or relinquish control, yet the night of their engagement he appeared positively flustered. She had fought an adoring smile as she watched him silently war with himself, no doubt chastising himself for the adverse effects of his nerves.

His words wove gentle knots in Elizabeth’s heart, promising his love, adoration, and unrelenting devotion to her. She had never known a man as steadfast as James Norrington, and to be the subject of his affections was a stroke of good fortune she often found herself in awe of. Her answer came swiftly, enthusiastically, and affirmatively, bucking his cherished standards of propriety and drawing him down for a long, tender kiss.

The swell of the orchestra returns her from her reverie, and she scans the room for her fiancée, hoping to entice him to join her for a quiet moment in the garden, yet James—whom she normally spies pressed against a wall in hopes of avoiding detection—is nowhere to be found. His unannounced absence sets her on edge, and she slips out of the ballroom in search of him.

As she turns into the hallway, she spots the door to the study is slightly ajar, casting a sliver of moonlight upon her feet. She enters quietly, careful not to immediately notify him of her presence. The room is dark save for the pattering of starlight dancing across the floorboards, and she feels an inexplicable chill run through her despite the balmy evening air.

She spots James seated at the desk, illuminated only by the flame of a small candle flickering next to him. He is ensconced in shadows, and though she cannot see his face, he appears decidedly defeated, his shoulders slumped and head bowed over what appears to be a small letter.

“James?” she calls. “Are you alright? You seem to have disappeared from the fray.” She remains in the doorway, hesitant to enter, as if approaching a wounded animal.

James lifts his head at his name, and the expression he bears churns her stomach.

His dark brows are knitted in concern, his mouth contorted in a severe frown. Elizabeth is stricken by how uncharacteristically small he looks in this moment, and her heart aches. She crosses the room to meet him, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.

As if suddenly aware of the effect his rare, unguarded display of emotion has on her, James straightens himself and attempts to adopt an expression of neutrality. It doesn’t work, however, and Elizabeth’s throat tightens. She wishes he didn’t feel the need to always be strong for her, especially at the expense of conveying his true feelings.

“I’m sorry to have left so abruptly,” he sighs, reaching up to his shoulder to place his hand over hers. “I should have come to find you.”

“No need to apologize, darling.” She pauses for a moment, searching for a way to lighten his mood. After a brief silence, she ventures, “I was hoping for a respite from these stifling guests myself, but it appears you’ve taken the preferred hideout.”

He smiles weakly up at her in a halfhearted acknowledgement of her attempt, but the expression does not meet his eyes. He glances down at the parchment in his hand, and Elizabeth notices that it is trembling slightly.

“I received a letter from my father.”

A wave of dread washes over Elizabeth, nausea nestling uncomfortably in her stomach. James never speaks much of his father, but she knows enough to be aware that he holds no affection for the Admiral, nor he James.

“Oh,” Elizabeth breathes, her anxiety casting a thick cloud in the humid air. What small bouts of communication James has with his family are usually conducted through his mother, who often disguises her own praises for her husband’s. James is never fooled, but extends her the courtesy of letting her believe otherwise. “He wrote you directly?”

“I was similarly surprised,” he sneers. “Apparently he deems our engagement a worthwhile enough occasion for his semi-annual acknowledgement of my existence. Aren’t we lucky?”

James’ words are acidic, but the thinly-masked hurt behind the words renders his voice nigh unrecognizable. Elizabeth squeezes his shoulder in response, then kneels at his side to meet his mournful gaze.

“May I see it?” she asks, so softly it’s nearly lost in the cacophony of music and laughter wafting from the adjacent ballroom.

James obliges wordlessly, casting his eyes downward like a child being scolded. She desperately wants to rest his head against her chest and press soothing kisses into his hair, but she refrains. Instead, she accepts the letter from him, dusting a soft kiss across his knuckles as she does so.

She knows from James’ occasional mentions that his father is a man of few words, yet she still finds herself taken aback by the brevity of the letter. The man’s penmanship is immaculate but impersonal, spanning the width of the page as if striving to crawl off of it.

Son,

I wish to extend your mother’s and my sincere congratulations on your engagement. May this be an accomplishment you brandish with pride.

Regards,

Admiral Lawrence Norrington English Royal Navy

Elizabeth scoffs at the formality with which the letter is written. Though she‘s always been aware that the relationship she shares with her father is rare, the cold detachment etched into the parchment sends a shiver down her spine. She gleans more information about her future father-in-law from what is withheld from the page than what is written, taking particular notice of the seemingly deliberate omission of any personal details.

She makes a silent note to herself to hug her father particularly tightly the next time she sees him.

After a long pause, she lets out a bitter laugh that pierces the air and startles James out of his stupor.

“Clearly you gained more from it than I did,” he responds flatly.

Elizabeth shakes her head. “Not at all. I’m simply marveling at the misfortune of the poor couriers whose efforts were wasted delivering such a worthless correspondence. I only hope they were compensated handsomely for their needless trouble.”

James arches an eyebrow in question, then releases a sharp bark of laughter that seems to deflate his rigid frame. Encouraged by his responding levity, Elizabeth smirks. “Do you think he believes he’ll receive a court martial if he fails to sign off with his full title?”

James unleashes a smile that illuminates his face, flecks of gold glinting in his impossibly green eyes. Elizabeth’s heart swells at the sight. “Perhaps my own failure to do so is why I have not yet been similarly promoted,” he replies, slapping his hand over his heart in feigned shock. “And to think the solution has been in front of me all this time!”

“Oh, please,” Elizabeth answers, waving her hand dismissively. “The honorable Admiral Norrington seems to perceive our impending union as a suitable alternative.”

James’ face falls at this, and he reaches down to clasp her hands in his own. Though she plays off the comment in jest, James knows she resents the frequent comparisons of her hand in marriage to a prize won. “Elizabeth,” he begins, his emerald gaze intent on her. “I assure you his foolish assessment of our relationship is not founded in anything he’s learnt on my behalf.”

A conciliatory smile graces her lips. She knows this. No matter how forward she’s been, how explicitly clear she’s made her feelings for him, James has never taken her—or her word—for granted. Even on the eve of their engagement, when their prior expressions of love rendered the occasion more a formality than an official inquiry, she had noticed an air of trepidation about him, as if he anticipated a rejection. She wondered if something in a past life had prepared him for it.

“Of course,” she replies, cupping his cheek in her hand. “I simply find myself tiring of those who liken our marriage to a professional laurel. I understand not all are able to marry for love, but reducing the value of women to what they can offer to their husbands…” Her gaze drops to her lap as she trails off, unable to finish without betraying the bitter lump in her throat. She hadn’t expected such emotion to overcome her in her efforts to comfort him.

James pulls her closer to him, pressing his forehead against hers. The simple, wordless act of understanding diffuses the tension in both of their bodies, and they sit in silence for a few moments, relishing the quiet intimacy of being entirely anchored to one another. He presses a soft kiss to her hair and tilts her chin to meet his eyes. After a beat, he smiles mischievously, as if he was just made privy to an excellent joke.

“I would say we’ve been most gracefully acquiescent to the governor’s lavish wishes for our engagement celebration. Perhaps we could leverage him to limit the capacity of our wedding to a more… amenable audience?”

Elizabeth releases a satisfied grin that splits her features, positioning her chin authoritatively. “I believe that can be arranged.”

#james norrington #elizabeth swann #norribeth #pirates of the caribbean #potc #FOURTH TRY

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megalony · 4 years

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My bad side- Part 4

Here is the latest part of my murderer! dad! Ben series, I hope you all enjoy, feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) have four boys together who love and dote on him, despite his antics and ruthless ways. But no one wants to get on Ben’s bad side, especially not the neighbours.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

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"What do you think your dad's gonna say?" The words fell from (Y/n)'s lips with a tone that was mixed with annoyance and agitation directed towards her eldest son who was following her through the house into the kitchen. His feet stomping against the floor like it was his mission to dent the carpets and bruise the soles of his feet.

"Don't tell him." The way Theo spoke implied he wasn't so much nervous about what would happen if Ben found out, he sounded condescending, like he was stating the obvious and if (Y/n) turned around she was sure he would be rolling his eyes.

The moment the pair of them reached the kitchen (Y/n) spun round on her heels to face her son, placing her hands on her hips as her eyes narrowed in anger that simply rose when she saw his expression. He looked angry but he also looked like he was bored, as if this conversation was a waste of his time and he didn't seem to care. (Y/n) knew no matter what she said or what she did, her anger wasn't going to put Theo back in his place. She was no match for the wrath that Ben showed whenever the boys did something wrong or they got on his nerves. Ben could simply look at one of the boys and they would cower or quieten down instantly, with (Y/n) it was as if they knew she wasn't as harsh so they didn't take as much notice.

"Don't tell him? Theo I think he'd find out when they knocked on the bloody door don't you? You've got to pack this in now, you can't keep going on like this."

Her words seemed to have some kind of impact on Theo because he didn't look her in the eye like he would if he were being defiant or trying to purposely wind her up but she knew he wasn't going to take this to heart.

Theo seemed to be taking after Ben in the aspect that he couldn't control his temper and he had started another fight at school. Due to the way he was acting out, the school was sending a social worker round to try and talk to both Theo and (Y/n) and Ben to sort out his behaviour and that was not something (Y/n) wanted. It wasn't a good thing because it meant someone trying to tell her how to discipline and bring up her child and it meant they would also see the way Ben parented.

Ben wasn't a bad parent, he was a very good dad to the boys, but he had different methods. One look at the way Ben was would show where Theo got his temper and if they saw the way Ben could get angry or annoyed with the boys it could give the impression that there were problems at home- which there weren't.

"When people are mean to dad he hurts them, he always fights with Nigel and he pinned him to the wall." Theo threw his arm out at his side to emphasise his point but his point was invalid and he knew it.

"That's because your dad can't control himself. You can't go round hurting the other kids just because they say mean things or they annoy you, just because your dad does it doesn't mean you can." Ben wasn't the best role model for the kids because he did hurt people and he had threatened and even got physical with Nigel who lived next door. But that was because Ben knew violence and he was very handy with his fists, it was what he knew best and it was something he knew would get people to submit and listen.

Theo couldn't go around doing the same.

"Alright, why are we arguing?" Ben's calm voice cut through the tension thickening in the air around them as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes casting between his wife and son, trying to see what the problem was.

"He's been fighting again so now the school are sending a social worker round next week, but Theo thinks it's okay to keep doing what he's doing." (Y/n) folded her arms over her chest, her eyes just daring Theo to say that she was wrong when his expression looked like she had just betrayed him. He started to scratch his nails against his palms in a way that resembled Ben when he clenched and unclenched his hands into fists when he was rearing for a fight.

Ben's brows rose but he still looked deadly calm, something which was off-putting to Theo. The nine year old kept his gaze glued to his dad, watching as he moved around the kitchen to get a drink before he leaned against the counter next to (Y/n), standing directly in front of his eldest boy.

"I told you last time you decided to throw a punch at someone that you can't do that, want to know why? Because you're nine, and you're in school. The other kids bother you, walk away or tell someone. You can't go your whole life punching people who annoy you, I fight for a living but I don't go fighting everyone in the street." Ben was bad for starting fights, but he didn't fight with every person who got on his nerves or he'd never stop. Theo couldn't hurt every kid in the school who made fun of him or ignored him or were rude to him. They may annoy him but fighting wasn't always the answer.

"You always say that but even mum always says you fight everyone who annoys you, why can't I fight someone whose mean to me?" Theo stomped his foot down against the tiled floor, ignoring the rush of pain it brought to his heel but he could feel his features heating up when Ben didn't react.

Ben didn't look surprised or annoyed or angered or guilty, he looked unimpressed and rather like Theo was wasting his time.

"Because that's not being a man or being a fighter, that's a little boy who can't ignore a petty little kid trying to get a rise out of him. You're at school to learn, not to throw a tantrum so you better start getting that temper under control and learn to ignore them. Fighting them won't make you tough it makes you silly for letting them get to you every time." The way Ben spoke showed he was trying to end the conversation.

Ben didn't fight every person who tried to get a rise out of him because it wouldn't make him a better fighter or make him a tough guy. Rising to every shot fired made him an easy target and showed people they could get on his nerves very easily. But if Ben bided his time and just ignored them as much as he could, he could pick and choose his fights and fight ones he knew he would win or ones that were too close to home. Theo had to learn to do the same or he wasn't going to be going in the right direction.

Ben gave Theo a knowing look before he left the kitchen to go and see to Beckett who he had left watching tv in the living room.

"When that social worker comes round next week you'd better behave, I'm not having you piss around so they have to keep coming over. I mean it Theo, this stops now." (Y/n) warned before she started to get a few items out of the fridge to make something for tea.

"Why, are you afraid of what they'll find out?" Theo's voice was taunting and he was beginning to grate on (Y/n)'s nerves. She wished Ben had been harsher with his words because when Ben laid down the law Theo listened.

"What exactly are they going to find out, that you can't control your temper unless your dad gets stern with you? I don't want them round because I've got four of you to look after and a baby on the way. I don't need someone getting under my feet right now." (Y/n) turned around to face Theo with a tired expression before she continued getting dinner ready and started cutting up vegetables.

(Y/n) knew if a social worker kept coming round they would try and tell (Y/n) and Ben how to care for all their boys, not just Theo. She had four boys to care for and a baby on the way, a social worker would just slow (Y/n) down and get in the way when she had a lot to do and Ben would be less than kind to them when they came round. This wasn't the greatest timing and Theo had to buck his ideas up quickly because neither parent had the patience to deal with his tantrums anymore.

"They'll talk to dad and see he gets angry and fights with me and they'll say he can't do that."

A sigh passed through (Y/n)'s lips as she put down the knife in her hand, slowly turning her head in Theo's direction with a look in her eyes that showed he wasn't scaring or taunting her like he was trying to do.

"You think that when other parents get angry they don't shout or even smack their kids once in a while? You dad fights with you when you lash out and he does that because he knows you're afraid of him when he's angry and he isn't afraid to hit you. He's not the only parent like that." (Y/n) knew there were many parents who would hit their children at least once if they did something very bad or tried to hit their parents or a sibling or do something horrible.

Ben shouted and he could hit Theo because he knew being abrasive and making Theo afraid of him made his son listen and stop acting out. It wasn't just Ben who parented in that way and deep down Theo knew that.

"I'm not afraid of dad-"

"Yes you are, that's why you're arguing with me and not him now stop it. If you're gonna carry on like this then go to your room I'm not playing this game anymore." The only reason Theo was arguing with (Y/n) was because he was too afraid to carry on the subject with Ben in case Ben shouted or got angry or just walked away out of boredom.

"Daddy that's mine!" Rowan's lips curved into a smile as he held out the small rectangular card with the light blur colour painted across the top. He leaned over the board game set out on the floor as much as he could to show Ben that he had landed on the property that Rowan had a small green house resting on.

The twins weren't the best at playing monopoly, they didn't fully understand the game since they were only six but Ben wouldn't play the other children's games that the boys had. He simply didn't have the patience to play the younger games because he didn't like them, but he favoured this game and the boys played it since they wanted to play with Ben.

With a sigh and a playful roll of his eyes, Ben handed over a few paper notes which Rowan quickly took hold of and started to place them on the right colour piles he had stacked around him.

Turning his head, Ben looked to his right were Finn was sat with a pout on his lips as he looked at the paper money and the property cards laid out in front of him. Ben had one twin sitting on either side of him as he leaned back against the sofa and he had Beckett sitting on his lap, leaning back against his knees that were propped up.

"What's up?" Ben questioned, his eyes focused on Finn even as he grabbed Beckett's toy and placed it back in the youngest boy's hands to stop him from trying to grab the game pieces. Beckett had a tendency to grab little pieces like that or bits of lego or small things and tried to eat them and Ben wasn't about to let him choke on a toy house.

"Why do you have all the houses?" Finn pointed at all the property cards Ben had in front of him. Ben wasn't trying to win or be cruel, he was helping the twins to play and showing them what to do but whenever he landed on a good space he did buy the property and nearly bankrupt the twins in the process.

"Because I'm the boss. Don't worry, when your mum comes in for a game you can be on my team."

Ben smiled but it didn't last long as all their heads turned in the direction of the doorway when they heard (Y/n) shouting something but her words couldn't be made out properly. Ben flashed the boys a calming look as he got to his feet, gently settling Beckett down on the bundle of pillows and covers in the corner seat of the sofa to keep him out the way of the game pieces.

"Watch the tv for a minute and we'll carry on when I come back." Ben pointed to the tv before he headed out of the room and headed down the hall into the kitchen at the back of the house.

The moment Ben entered the kitchen, his eyes widened in their sockets before his feet skidded against the tiled floor and grabbed the counter to propel himself forward to lunge at Theo.

"Theodore!" The name tore from Ben's lips and scratched through the air when Ben managed to grab hold of his son but he couldn't grab his wrist quick enough before Theo managed to punch (Y/n). When he got hold of him properly, Ben dug his fingers into his flesh to pull him backwards when he started to writhe and struggle. Not thinking twice about what he was about to do, Ben moved his hands so his left hand was bruisingly holding Theo's shoulder before he latched his fingers around Theo's wrist on his other arm. He very quickly twisted Theo's arm around and pulled it back, pinning his arm between his shoulder blades against his spine before pushing him so he was leaning over looking at the floor.

When Theo stopped wriggling and instead started to whine on the boarder of crying from the discomfort and pain of his arm twisted behind his back, Ben looked up from his boy to his wife. There was worry in Ben's eyes despite the rage that seemed to be pooling in his pupils.

(Y/n) nodded to the silent question Ben was asking as she rested her hand on the counter beside her, trying to regain back her stolen breath that disappeared the moment Ben entered the room. One moment she had been shouting at Theo who had been raging back, then the next he was throwing his fists at her. Theo had shouted at (Y/n), he'd slapped her once or twice and once he had pushed her into one of the cabinets in the hall, but he'd never tried to hit her. He'd never properly tried to punch her like he had done with Ben and even with Finn.

"Ben..." (Y/n) trailed off, her voice trembling almost as bad as her body as she watched how tightly Ben was gripping Theo and noticed how the eldest boy was now crying. Whether he was crying out of pain or fear, neither parent could tell and Ben didn't care.

Ben kept Theo were he was for a few moments longer, tightening his hold over him before he finally relented and pulled Theo back up to his proper height. The moment he was stood upright, Ben let go of his shoulder and wrist so he could grab him by the chin, pushing him back until his back hit the counter causing his cries to shake with fear.

Theo had lied when he said he wasn't afraid of Ben, he loved his dad so much but when Ben got like this there was a fire evident in his eyes and that was beyond terrifying for Theo. He never knew what Ben was going to do or say or how he would punish him for anything bad that he did.

"Don't you dare go for your mother like that again, you hear me? If I ever catch you trying to do that again I will break your fucking arm, you're lucky I haven't snapped your wrist for punching her like that. Now get the fuck out of my sight before I show you what a proper punch feels like." Ben roughly let go of Theo's jaw before he took a step back, pushing Theo's shoulder harshly when he didn't leave the room quick enough for Ben's liking.

The moment Theo scuttled out of the kitchen, Ben spun on his heels to face (Y/n), raking his fingers through his hair to brush the curls out of his eyes that were burning like the fires of hell. He could just about tolerate Theo trying to fight the other kids at school because he had reason and he had a temper that they were trying to curb. When Theo hit Ben he would take it even though he made sure Theo knew he couldn't get away with it. But when he went for one of his brothers or went for (Y/n), that was when Ben lost it.

He wouldn't tolerate any of the boys trying to hurt one another worse than simply a push or a little scuffle here and there and he wouldn't have any of them trying to hurt (Y/n) like that because it wasn't fair nor deserved.

"Sure you're okay?" He questioned, his tone much lighter than a few seconds previous. Walking over to where (Y/n) was standing, Ben wrapped his arms loosely around her waist to pull her against his front, his head dipping down so he could rest his forehead against her own.

"I'm fine... but he can't be doing that next week when the social worker visits." (Y/n) sighed through her words before she leaned forward to rest her forehead against Ben's chest, feeling him pressing his lips to the back of her head in the process. If Theo acted out like that next week there would be more problems to deal with, they had to get him under control. (Y/n) thought Ben's manners and antics and the way he was around the boys in general would have stopped any of them from acting out like that but Theo seemed to have Ben's temper that was almost uncontrollable.

"The little shit won't dare, if he tries anything at all he's getting a punch. I'm not having him do that again." Ben wouldn't let Theo even think about acting out next week, he wouldn't get the chance Ben would make sure of that.

Moving his hand down, Ben gently pressed the palm of his hand against (Y/n)'s stomach where a bump was just beginning to form.

"I really hope this one's a girl." His tone was whining, almost as if he was pleading with fate to finally have a daughter to dote on rather than a fifth son. Ben loved all his boys and he liked having a little army of sons, but this time around, he was desperate for a baby girl.

#ben hardy #ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #imagine #BoRhap #dad! ben #murderer! ben

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florbelles · 4 years

Text

— oc mannerisms

tagged by @spicevalleys, @nightwingshero, @pd3 and @shellibisshe, thank you lovelies <3

tagging @tomexraider @xbaebsae @tommymillers @risenlucifer @abosaa @foofygoldfish @shallow-gravy @chyrstis @honesthearts @softmillers @chuckhansen @trialandseed @mackie-hattwie @kingmaking and anyone else can @ me ( i’m sorry if you’ve done this, i haven’t been around as much the past two days )

how they smile:

with a curled twisting lips to express condescension or disdain, tilted mouth corner pursed to blow out cigarette smoke

teeth bared and menacing with busted lips and spitting blood

open-mouthed with her head thrown back in a laugh

soft and full with lips upturned in the mornings, evenings, when she’s relaxed and with her loved ones; swollen and pressed against her husband’s mouth or neck

what their “tell” is for lying:

her tells are in her hands, it’s why she initially took up smoking; fingernails curling into her palms, sinking into the semi-permanent crescent marks; cigarettes burning down to her fingertips

she lied professionally for long enough that she’s trained herself out of most of her tics; she’s highly conscious of her own movements, and she never lies to those who know her well enough to catch the traces of flexing hands or slightly tightened mouth

if she’s changing her body language deliberately, it’s to appear more vulnerable; her head will hang a bit lower, her shoulders looser, her spine curving inwards to make herself smaller; widened, desperate eyes and and parted, trembling lips. ( mostly confined to the three years she spent on the road and found her targets hitchhiking or in hotel bars )

deceives almost exclusively through omission or redirection, rarely makes false statements — none of these are generally applicable

posture:

general: lyra’s physicality is very tied to her styling choices; she’s always in heels or barefoot, always in a dress, always with heavy hair down to her waist. she stands and moves accordingly.

standing: shoulders back, chest lifted, neck extended; very open upper body language; arms rotated with palms facing outwards, usually at her sides; hands occasionally loosely clasped either in front of her or behind her back; virtually never crosses her arms or folds inwards unless she’s propping herself up/leaning on a surface. normally stands with one leg slightly bent at the knee or with one foot crossed over the other; rarely lets her knees lock

sitting: legs extended and crossed at the heel when she wishes to take up space or make herself an imposing presence; straight backed with her legs folded at a bar or in a meeting; a regular feline at home ( if she’s with her husband she’s curled around him and in his lap, no personal space in this house )

volume of speech, if they’re verbal:

naturally has a fairly soft, soothing voice; it’s light and airy and she consciously pitches it lower when she wishes her words to carry more gravity

raises her voice when she’s agitated; she’ll also speak more rapidly, breathe heavily, slip into her natural higher pitch

low and almost husky in the mornings or with her loved ones; her words are slower and gentler and sometimes slightly slurred if she’s still waking up

her voice is quietest at its most menacing; if she’s speaking softly when she’s hostile, it’s time to abandon all hope

nervous tics:

restless/twitching fingers or toes

biting her lips, the insides of her mouth, her tongue if she needs to be subtle

clenching and unclenching her back muscles; she feels her nerves most acutely in her spine

rapid chainsmoking, digging her nails into her palms or thighs or the back of her neck

post-collapse she’ll trace her wrath tattoo

if she feels genuinely threatened she’ll slide her hand towards whatever weapon she can most subtly grasp; normally it’s the knife she keeps on her person, generally strapped to her thigh

how much eye contact do they make:

always makes direct eye contact; only lowers her gaze or breaks it in a deliberate gesture ( to draw attention elsewhere, to give a judgmental once-over, to flirt or tease, to indicate annoyance )

in a group conversation, how close do they stand to others? are they off to the side just listening and occasionally speaking or are they right next to people?:

lyra has the same disregard for personal space as her in-laws, she fit in straightaway; uses closeness as both a show of intimacy and an intimidation tactic

quite literally leans into conversations

will make casual physical contact to establish engagement or familiarity ( touching arms/face/hands depending on the relationship; light shoves or bumping hips when teasing or joking with loved ones if they’re comfortable with it ); all seed jokes aside, she’s very adept at reading body language and adapts accordingly unless she’s aiming to threaten/condescend

she likes to be in the center of things, but she’ll stand off to the side as a sign of deference; generally only applicable to joseph

when standing, what do they do with their hands? talk with their hands, cross their arms, put hands in pockets, prop up against the wall, etc:

very nearly always has a cigarette between her fingertips or a glass/coffee mug in hand; likes to keep them occupied in hostile company since they’re where her tells manifest

talks with her free hands; favors open, sweeping gestures over small or tight movements; often near her face

( see posture )

the sound of their footsteps:

if she’s in heels, her footsteps generally announce her approach; her stride is long and deliberate and as loud as she wishes it to be

if she’s barefoot — essentially the only alternative — she still usually walks on the balls of her feet, meaning her steps are virtually silent. it’s one extreme or the other with her

nonverbal greetings: do they wave, nod, hug, glare, punch, high five, something else?

she virtually always verbally announces herself ( usually sweeping in grandly with a “hello, darlings!” )

will lightly touch someone’s shoulder/back to make her presence known if a verbal greeting isn’t appropriate/they’re otherwise occupied

always greets john nose-first; will nudge his nose or his neck with it depending on whether or not she’s wearing heels ( absolutely disgusting, what is she, a horse )

normally greets faith by touching her hair, brushes it back from her face/shoulders with her fingers

how do they get others’ attention? raise hand, clear throat, etc:

doesn’t wait to be noticed; will assert herself verbally ( sharply & loudly if she must, but it’s usually unnecessary ) or physically ( laying her hand on someone, putting herself in their way )

#tag memes #oc: lyra fairbanks

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